


I love your demons (like devils can)

by ariadne_odair



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Exhibitionism, F/F, Fingering, GIRL EVERYONEE, Girl Direction, Homophobia, Internalised Homophobia, Oral Sex, Over stimulation, Semi-Public Sex, aiiiii, allll the good stuff, bad parenting leaving scars, but it's only cause she wants to fuck her, girl harry, girl louis, harry is the bumbling cutie who joins the footie team, lesbians fucking things up, louis is the regina george of doncastor, louis' a bit of a bitch, the whole of little mix pitch up at various points
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne_odair/pseuds/ariadne_odair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I am right here," she says loudly, and she can almost hear the crack when Louis' head whips around to stare at her.</p><p>"<i>Why?</i>" Louis asks, and Harry feels her insides shrivel up and die.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Harry didn’t plan to join the football team. She didn’t plan to sleep with the captain of the football team. She definitely didn’t plan to sleep with the closeted captain of the football team, who promptly acted as if nothing happened and left Harry a pathetic, pining mess.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FIC HAS CONSUMED MY LIFE FOR THE BEST PART OF SIX MONTHS, MY WRITING USED TO VARY, NOW I JUST WRITE LESBIANS AIII :D In all seriousness, this is the longest (squeal) thing I have ever wrote, and I don't think it was too sucky so I'm stupidly proud.
> 
> Massive hugs to [1dezpo](http://1dezpo.tumblr.com/) because she was amazing and encouraged me to finish! I don't know if you remember, but a couple of months ago I was like: I have three 10k girl direction chapters, what do I do now? and she made me finish, so honestly thank you a billion times :D
> 
> MY LOVELY LOVELY PAL [savesoulandpunk](http://savesoulandpunk.tumblr.com/) who cried and cheerleaded AND DIED DURING THE SMUT LOVE YOU SO MUCH BABYCAKES LIGHT OF MY LIFE CUPCAKE FLOWER serious tho I loveee you I hope we stay frienddsss
> 
> Finally (last person I swear) the lovely [yvesaintomlinson](http://yvesaintomlinson.tumblr.com/) for doing the awesome art [here](http://yvesaintomlinson.tumblr.com/tagged/1dbigbang) and being an all out cutie x THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE AMAZING HEADER TOOOO :D

“Harry, get up.”

Harry would just like to make it abundantly clear: Liam’s not her girlfriend. They have no romantic claim on each other whatsoever. There is no illicit, sexy affair going on between them. None. Zero. Naught.

If Liam _was_ her girlfriend, Harry would be entirely receptive to this situation: It’s early morning, the birds are tweeting, there’s an attractive girl sliding into her bed, shaking her shoulders -

\- jabbing the underside of her stomach, _jesus_.

Harry lifts her head from her pillow, shooting Liam a glare. Her vision is blurry from sleep, and she groans, dropping her head back down. “Fuck off, Liam.”

Liam is not her girlfriend. Liam is a psychotic, sports maniac _freak_ , and Harry is going to kill her. After she’s slept some more. And has a coffee in her. However, the she-devil that goes by the name Liam is clearly not on the same wavelength as Harry, because she chooses that exact moment to rip Harry’s sheets off her body.

“We’ve done this every morning since the beginning of term,” Liam snaps, putting her hands on her hips. Her dirty blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she’s in cut-off jogging bottoms and a tight grey shirt. Her trainers are still immaculately white, which pisses Harry off an inordinate amount at six in the morning.

“Fine,” Harry huffs finally, pushing herself off from the bed. She swings her legs over the side before shamelessly stripping off her shirt. It’s not as if Liam hasn’t seen worse, and Harry sleeps in a bra, even though Gemma told her when she was 13 it would make her grow a third nipple. She’s always been secretly scared there’ll be a fire alarm, and she doesn’t want the whole street to see her sans bra. Hey, it’s a possibility.

“Your stripping isn’t going to make me leave,” Liam sighs, throwing one of Harry’s trainers at her. Harry catches it just before it hits her face. “You strip all the time, Hazza. It’s really no longer a shock. Nice bra, by the way.”

“Repress your lustful urges, Payne, there’s a good girl,” Harry mumbles, which elicits a laugh from Liam. She throws on a threadbare shirt, ankle socks, and joggers, then grabs a hair band -only to swear when she sees the state of her hair in the mirror.

“I look like shit,” she says flatly, glaring at her reflection. “My hair looks like an untrimmed hedge.”

“Stop stalling.” Liam scowls. “Come on. You promised you would come running with me.”

“Should’ve pinky promised,” Harry says, and then yawns as she quietly unlocks the front door. She doesn’t fancy waking her mum up. “Pinky promise or it didn’t happen.”

“You’re a child,” Liam says cheerfully. “Now run.” Harry does, because Liam’s actually a little scary when she wants to be.

A few days into October, it’s cold this early in the morning, and the sharp air sneaks under Harry’s shirt, pressing cold fingertips to her skin. The sun is barely peeking around the clouds, little slivers of gold piercing the spray paint pinks and blues of the dawn sky.

The air in her lungs is a much sweeter wake up call, spreading goose bumps on her arms and kick-starting her brain. For all she bitches -- which she does, so much, seriously, she takes complaints to a whole new level -- Harry does like running. It’s a release, a way to get rid of the excess energy she always seems to have buzzing through her veins.

She grins at Liam as they match pace easily, bodies in tune from the constant repetition of their daily run, and she smiles back good naturedly, rolling her eyes. For Liam it’s about something else entirely; she actually wants to be a sports therapist, the sadist.

“So, Liam,” Harry begins as they pass a bench right on cue, and Liam groans. “What? I haven’t even asked yet!”

“You’re going to ask me if I’ve found anyone to go out with yet,” Liam says, narrowing her eyes. Maybe Liam’s exactly on Harry’s wavelength. Damn. “You’ve asked me the same thing ever since I broke up with Daniel. Just like you’ve been running with me ever since I broke up with Daniel. Are you seeing a pattern here, Harry? It’s called a _routine_ \- “

“Shut up,” Harry says, stumbling to a stop. She bends over, resting her hands on her knees. Harry’s by no means a complete slob, but she has an unhealthy dependency on her TV and the newest season of _Pretty Little Liars_ , so she’s not as fit as she’d like to be.

Liam, of course, is barely breaking a sweat. Literally, Harry cannot see any perspiration on her at all. “Li, you broke up with Daniel before the summer holidays. It’s now October. I’m just saying, it’s about time you found someone - “

“Harry, ‘it’s about time you found someone’ is something you say to fifty year old woman called Linda who’s decided cats are better company than people.”

“Getting a bit testy there, Liam?”

“Shut up.”

“Liam actually sounds a lot like Linda, when you think about it - “

“Shut up.”

“You know, if you can’t find your vagina, I’m pretty sure there are videos - agh!”

Liam is unsurprisingly strong. Her headlock definitely gets an A+ for cutting off Harry’s air supply. She lets her go after a minute, and Harry takes an overly dramatic breath of air -- which backfires when she swallows a bug and chokes. Liam laughs for a full minute, despite Harry jabbing her in the ribs with her elbow.

“Seriously, Li -- _put your arm away, Liam Payne_ , _this_ _is serious_ _talk_ \-- are you still sad about Daniel? You can tell me. We can cry together. I’ll bring out the ice cream, and we can watch Iron Pants -- “

“It’s _Iron_ _Man_ , Harry. That joke’s not even funny anymore - “

“Who bought herself a pair of _Iron_ _Man_ boxers? Oh, right, you. Anyway, are you sure you’re okay? Not even a little mopey?”

Liam sighs, running a hand through her ponytail, tugging on the ends a little. “I’m sure. It’s not like it didn’t hurt, but I’m happy for him. And he was at college, not sixth form, so it was putting a strain on things anyway.”

“Okay,” Harry says, shrugging slightly. Liam may not be one to make a fuss, but she’s not one to lie, either. “I did kind of want some ice cream, though.”

Liam laughs, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll buy you a Magnum after school, yeah?”

Harry grins, squeezing Liam’s hip briefly before shifting back into a jog. They pick up the pace a bit, breathing in time as they finish their lap of the park.

“So,” Harry pants, a few seconds in, “about those videos -- “

Liam pushes her into a bush.

 

 

 

 

 

Harry gets home, pulls a few twigs out of her hair, and heads straight to the shower. She’s desperate for the warm water, not to mention the fact she’s sweating. And not in an attractive Angelina Jolie way, but in a ‘my perspiration is taking on its own personality’ kind of way.

She slips into the shower, grabbing her favourite vanilla shower gel. Gemma says it makes her smell like a candle, but Gemma’s not here. Never is actually, ever since she went to Uni to do something prestigious sounding.

Harry scowls at the shower door for a second, lost in thought. Gemma’s never here, and Harry knows she sounds like a brat, but she misses her. Even when she does come home, all she does is study, or go out with her friends, or moan at Harry for hanging around all the time.

Gemma’s her best friend, always has been. Her first ever memory is of Gemma playing Barbies with Harry. Gemma had told Harry that Barbies came alive at night and ate little girls, and Harry had been so scared she’d wet the bed.

That doesn’t sound particularly sisterly, but Gemma had helped her clean the sheets, then slept in Harry’s bed to protect her from autonomous plastic dolls.

Gemma was her wingwoman when Harry came out. Gemma actually punched Chloe Barber, the girl who’d bullied Harry throughout Year 10. Gemma had held her hand when she’d told mum and Robin. Throughout Year 11, Gemma would take pictures of girls she’d thought Harry would like to date when she was out shopping and then text them to her.

Seriously, she had a rating chart and everything. Okay, so no one got past a six, but. Principles.

And now Gemma’s in university, and Harry misses her so much. And when she is home, she doesn’t seem to want to be Harry’s wingwoman anymore. Harry is wingless.

She shakes her head, rubbing her hands over her face. This is way too deep for a Monday morning; all she wanted was a freaking shower.

“You’re a traitor,” she tells her frizz-ease, anti-curl shampoo and conditioner, and turns on the water.

 

 

 

 

Ashton gives her a funny look when she gets into form that morning. Liam unfortunately isn’t in her form, meaning she has to deal with her form tutor - Miss Limb - all by herself. Miss Limb refuses to call Harry anything but ‘Harriet’.

Harry offered to bring in her birth certificate, just for courtesy’s sake, but Miss Limb somehow took that the wrong way, and gave her a detention. That’s how she met Ash - Ash is a drummer, and he kept tapping his hands in a rhythm on his desk, embedding the tempo into the wood.

Apparently, Miss Limb doesn’t like drumming very much.

Miss Limb doesn’t like anything very much.

“Ash,” Harry greets cheerfully, slinging her satchel down onto her chair. Ashton grins widely at her, messy brown hair falling in waves over his forehead. Ashton is possibly the cutest boy she’s ever seen. Whenever she sees him, she has a strange urge to pat his head and tell him not to spend all his pennies at once.

“Harreh,” Ashton grins, voice twanging in his Australian accent, the inflection still strong despite having moved to England over a year ago.

He tells everyone that it was due to the rise in koala attacks. It’s alarming how many people buy it.

“How’s life?”

Harry rolls her eyes. “Ash, you ask me this every Monday. Trust me, nothing that interesting happens in my life.”

“Whatever, have you done your psychology homework?” Ashton asks cheerfully, and Harry dutifully hands it over. “Thanks.”

“You ever think about picking up a pencil?” Harry jokes, rifling through her bag. She pulls out her sixth form lanyard, slinging it around her neck. They’re all required to have one, and Miss Limb is particularly fussy about it.

Miss Limb doesn’t like it if you don’t put your lanyard on. Put your hand up if you’re surprised.

“Nope, my hands burn if I touch anything but a drumstick,” Ashton says seriously, scribbling down Harry’s answer on insecure-resistant children. “You’d have to make a drumstick with a pen attached to it.”

Harry snorts at that, pulling out her phone to text Liam. The only class she has with Liam is psychology, and they’re in different sets for that anyway, so it sucks **.**

**To: Leeyum Payne (in my arse ahhahaha)**

**heey I’ll meet you in the canteen for lunch, okay??? REPLY QUICK LIMB IS COMING :)**

****  
_From: Leeyum Payne (in my arse ahhahaha)_

_of course i will its cupcakeee monddayyyy yesssss sooo exciteedd :)_

Harry smiles at the text, sliding the phone into her pocket before ‘Limb’ turns up. Ashton looks up, eyes lighting in realisation. “That’s from Liam, right? You realise she’s co-dependent on those cupcakes, right? They’re not even that nice, I had one before and it tasted like ash and tinfoil.”

“Eat a lot of that, do you?”

“Well, yeah, I do all my own cooking.”

Harry laughs, shaking her head. Every Monday lunchtime the canteen makes red velvet cupcakes, to raise more money for better air conditioning or whatever. Liam always has double sports studies on Mondays, so after burning off twelve billion or so calories, she rewards herself with one red velvet cupcake.

Harry has seen Liam burn someone with her eyes, just for pushing in front of her in the queue, after having four straights hours of suicide runs.

“So, did you hear about the footie team?” Ashton whispers to her, while Miss Limb’s taking the register.

Harry blinks at him. “No, and why have you? You hate football. You don’t even play FIFA.”

Ashton scrunches his nose up at her. “Don’t start. No, the girl’s football team. They want more girls to sign up for it. I saw Jade putting the posters up today.”

“Did you put your name down?” Harry asks sweetly, and Ashton laughs, batting his eyelashes at her.

“Yeah, because I’d fit right in,” he laughs, but his gaze soon turns serious. “Harry - “

“No,” Harry says automatically, pulling down the sleeves of her black jumper. “No, Ashton.”

“Harry, you’re good.” Ashton’s tone is fierce, flipping Miss Limb off when she shushes him. Luckily she doesn’t see, but Ashton wouldn’t be bothered either way. It’s probably the Australian spirit. “I’ve seen you play.”

The only reason Ashton’s seen her play is that his drum lessons are before her guitar ones. Harry had been hanging around and someone had left a ball in the courtyard. Harry had only been doing some keepy-uppyies, but Ashton is somehow convinced she’s a football goddess.

“Yeah, and I really need everyone refusing to share a changing room with a dyke,” Harry answers dully, cheeks flushing uncomfortably. Her throat feels tight, and she swallows awkwardly.

“Harry,” Ashton says softly, his voice trailing off as he bites her lip. He pats her thigh once, and Harry feels herself smile a little at the contact.

She doesn’t regret coming out, but it wasn’t easy. It was never going to be, stuck in Year 10 and liking girls, when you’re practically a child yourself. Where everything weighs so heavily on what you wear, what you say, who you hold hands with in pretence of being in a ‘proper relationship’.

Teenage girls can be horrible to one another, and Harry got her fair share of comments. The worst were the girls who said they’d always ‘known’, as if the fact that she wore plaid, and was a little shy and a bit of a dork immediately made her a lesbian. As if they all knew she’d fail at ever getting a boy, so she’d settled with another alternative.

It’s better now, because people have grown up a bit -- not to mention Gemma’s right hook is nothing to laugh at -- but she really doesn’t need to tick the box of ‘likes sports’ on the list of prerequisites of a stereotypical lesbian.

“You’d be good,” Ashton repeats firmly, crossing his arms. “Harry, no one will start shit with you. You’ve just got to show them you’re good, and then they’ll leave you alone. Besides, Liam might join too, and she’s scary shit.”

Harry smirks, the hollow feeling in her chest loosening a little. “I guess so. I’m still not going for it. I mean, I’m obviously a potential hazard. I won’t be able to control myself around shirtless girls.”

“It’s alright,” Ashton replies wryly, quirking his lips up into a little smirk, “I’ll be your test model. If you can resist me naked, you can resist anyone.”

“Yeah, I’ll really consider that.”

“Harriet?” Miss Limb calls, and Ashton and Harry both reply with an ‘It’s Harry!’ at the same time.

“Seriously, Haz,” Ashton says softly. “You should think about it. Promise me.”

Harry nods, but Ashton rolls his eyes and grabs her hand, linking their little fingers together and squeezing. “Pinky or it didn’t happen.”

A laugh bubbles out of Harry’s throat, and she grins at Ashton just as the bell for lessons go. “And I wonder who you learnt that from?”

Ashton grins, brown eyes sparkling. “The best.”

 

 

 

 

 

Harry doesn’t really hear anything more about the football team until lunch. Liam meets her after psychology, and they walk to the canteen together. As usual, Liam salivates over the red velvet cupcakes. Liam gets really pissy if you mention this to her, so naturally Harry makes a point of mentioning it every chance she gets.

“Harry,” Liam snaps, after Harry’s third cake joke -- “What cake is like a rock? A marble cake.” Harry found it funnier than Liam did. Because Liam’s boring and Harry’s a genius. -- “If you’d done six rounds of the beep test, you’d be craving some sugar too.”

“What’s the beep test?” Harry asks curiously, inspecting the pasta salad. Ashton was right, it looks less than appetising. Frankly, the roast pork resembles a wet sock. Harry could definitely make a better roast dinner.

“Where you have to run a certain distance, back and forth, before the CD beeps,” Liam explains, eyes getting the haunted look only paramedics and sports studies students have. “But the beeps get shorter and shorter each time. I swear, Harry, I can’t even feel my thighs. Are my thighs there? Could you check?”

Harry giggles before promising Liam that yes, her thighs are still there, and dumping a cupcake on her tray. “Well, hopefully this will cheer you up.”

“Hazza,” Nick greets casually as they sit down at their usual table. Nick is the kind of pretentious only a Year 13 with a car and an unconditional offer to university can be. He’s got a place at a specialist media uni because -- as he’s fond of telling everyone -- he wants to work at Radio 1.

He’s a laugh though, and lends Harry all his CDs, so Harry doesn’t mind too much. She likes being friends with lots of people -- kind of missed out on it in secondary school -- likes surrounding herself with people who enjoy different things. It makes life more interesting.

“Hey!”

Harry blinks at the sweet voice, looking up to see Niall Horan grinning down at them. She’s rocking back on her heels, hands clasped with blue painted nails in front of her. Her choppy blonde hair is shoved under a snapback, and she’s wearing a tank top with the _Jack_ _Wills_ logo on it. It’s short enough Harry can just see her blue belly button piercing.

Niall Horan is something of a legend at their sixth form. She moved over from Ireland in Year 12, and the first party she went to she managed to drink James Fuller under the table. This was, like, a serious accolade, because one of Fuller’s nicknames was ‘kidneys of steel’.

In Harry’s more personal interest, Niall had enthusiastically and unashamedly gotten off with Leigh Anne Pinnock at that party, and then had said that she didn’t really care whose uglies she was bumping, as long as everyone was up for it.

Screw legend to the school, Niall’s pretty much Harry’s hero. She’s nice, too, always smiling and laughing loudly in the halls. Harry’s never sure if Niall’s like, _extremely_ Irish, or if everyone just subconsciously enhances her Irishisms because she’s the only Irish person in their school.

“You’re Harry, right?” Niall asks, tilting her head to one side like a bright little bird. “And Liam. Look, I was wondering if you’d try out for the football team? We need more girls for it, and you’re in my sports studies class, Liam. Plus, Harry, you’re pretty tall, so you can probably run farther. Not in those skinny jeans, though. I don’t know how you can move in them. Look good on you though, mate.”

“Er, thanks?” Harry’s not quite sure how she’s supposed to respond to that onslaught of babble.

“You’re welcome,” Niall replies brightly. “Think about the team, yeah?” Her gaze drops onto the table, eyes widening. “Is that red velvet? I wanted to get some but they were all out.”

Wordlessly, Liam pushes her cupcake across the table. Harry snaps her head around so fast that she might have sprained her neck. Liam just looks slightly shell-shocked. Harry raises one eyebrow, then waves to Niall as she walks away, licking the icing off her hands.

“Liam,” Harry says slowly. “Liam, you gave Niall your cake.”

Liam still has a confused look on her face, biting her lip in consternation. “Liam,” Harry repeats a little louder. “Liam, you gave Niall your cake.”

Liam still doesn’t say anything, so Nick chimes in. “Liam, when I tried to steal your cake, you threatened to shave my head. Which with my quiff would be an abomination -”

“Can we not talk about this?” Liam requests quietly, snapping out of her daze.

Harry nudges her ankle, a quiet reassurance, and changes the subject. “Are you going to think about joining, Li? You’d be good at it.”

“No way,” Liam says, crinkling her nose. “You know who runs the team right? Who’s captain?”

“No,” Harry drawls, taking a sip of her water. “Who?”

“Louis Tomlinson,” Nick mutters in a funny tone, and Harry spits out all her water.

When Harry thinks about Louis Tomlinson, she feels like that girl from _Mean Girls_ , the one that gives a running speel about Regina George.

Louis once punched Sam Cox in the face for asking her why she had a boy’s name and broke his nose. She set up the girls’ football team all by herself, and then proceeded to win the local football league. She spent a whole month in detention, and still managed to get the best score in her health and social class. If she is the Regina George of Doncaster, Harry is barely making a burnout.

Then there’s the off script stuff.

When Harry was in Year 9, she was in Louis’ set for PE. She’d managed to get out of it for years because of her asthma, but Coach Teasdale kindly but firmly told her that if her lungs weren’t caving in she really couldn’t stay in bottom set anymore.

So Harry had moved up into Louis’ set, and for some reason she had to be catcher on the rounders team whilst Louis was the pitcher. (And yes, she knows how many gay innuendos could be made out of that, okay? Jesus, Harry, get your mind out of the gutter.)

Harry was pretty nervous, because she’s shit at anything to do with things flying at her head. Football’s a different matter; it stays on the ground. Hence, you know, the foot part.

But Louis Tomlinson had looked at her, right across the pitch, and just - it sounds cliche but her breath had caught in her throat. No one had ever looked at her with such intensity, such vehemence. Because Louis Tomlinson really, really likes to win.

Needless to say, it had been Harry’s worst game ever. She’s pretty certain the PE teachers recorded it for a ‘what not to do ever when playing sport’ tutorial. They’d lost, and Louis had told her she had had the co-ordination of a drunk squirrel, and to never play on her team again. It had been very dramatic, and Harry had wanted to punch Louis in her (admittedly pretty) face.

But then there was the whole Sam Cox thing, and Harry’s pretty anti-violence, so. She just stayed mortified and imagined scenarios where she’d said a really witty one-liner and thrown the rounders ball at Louis’ head.

“There’s no way I’m joining the team with her,” Liam says firmly, shaking her head. “She’s a proper harsh captain, plus all she does in lessons is muck around. I don’t like her. She’s arrogant.”

“Liam, you’re good at sport,” Harry argues, stabbing her pasta moodily. “And it’ll look good considering you want to be a sports therapist. Coach Teasdale might let you shadow her when she’s doing muscle therapy or something.”

Liam bites her bottom lip, hard enough her teeth make little indents in the pink skin. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

Harry can tell there’s something else bothering her, so she makes a note to talk to her about it later. Nick clears his throat, unpeeling an orange with his long fingers. He’s on some fancy fruit diet he and Harry picked out of Cosmo.

“Tomlinson’s not that bad,” Nick says slowly. “She’s just highly strung. Like a really screechy violin, but still.”

Harry shoots him a sideways look, but Nick just raises his eyebrows at her and goes back to peeling his orange. She’s never sure what happened between him and Louis, only that they were good friends in primary school, and that he and Louis sometimes go watch films together. The ones Nick claims he doesn’t like ‘because they’re too mainstream’.

The bell rings, so Harry grabs Liam’s hand and drags her to the toilets before next lesson. She’s determined to find out what’s going on with her. She kicks the door shut and leans against it to stop anyone coming in.

“Right. What’s going on?” Harry demands, looking over at Liam, her face ghostly in the dim lighting of the bathroom.

Liam takes a deep breath, pushing her hair back from her face. “I was looking at Niall’s belly button piercing.”

Harry frowns. “Is that all? So was I, it’s pretty cool. I’d get one but knowing my life it’d get infected, which is not worth the hassle, and I heard - “

Liam shakes her head. “No, that’s not it - “

“Do you want one? You’re proper toned so it’d look good. I’ll come with you if you want, if your parents won’t let you.”

Liam lets out a breath, and enunciates very, very clearly: “I was thinking about pulling on it. With my teeth. Preferably whilst Niall was laying down. On a bed. Harry, are you getting where I’m going with this?”

Harry blinks at her. “So, you might ...have a crush on Niall?”

Liam shrugs, then flinches when Harry lets out a whoop. “Liam, this is great! Niall’s fit, in a pixie kind of way, and I bet dirty talk sounds great in an Irish accent - “

Liam lets out a choked laugh, making calm down motions with her hands. “Harry, chill. Look, it’s the first crush I’ve ever had on a girl, okay? I mean I’ve known I wasn’t straight since - “

“ - you liked the Black Widow better than Captain America,” Harry finishes, nodding. “Don’t think of yourself as weak, Liam. Scarlett Johansson in a cat suit could crumble even the straightest of women.”

Liam eyes her funny. “You’re so weird. Look, it’s just a bit strange, like, putting into action.”

Harry snorts. “Liam, mate, if you think that’s putting it into action - “

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Seriously though. You know it’s fine, right?” Harry says anxiously, squeezing Liam’s shoulder. “So you liked Niall. You liked Daniel too. Maybe you like boys and girls. Maybe you just like Niall. Maybe you just think Irish accents are hot. You don’t have to define everything, Li. There’s not a paper tray where you can file your bisexual application.”

Liam snorts. “I’m still waiting for it to come in the post.”

“Well, the delivery fees are exorbitant these days. Wait ‘till you apply for a club membership card.”

Liam snorts again, and Harry pulls her in for a hug. Liam hugs her back, strong arms going around Harry’s waist, squeezing her tight. Harry rests her head on Liam’s shoulder and takes a deep breath.

“Well, that was hella gay, Payne,” Harry teases when they pull back, and laughs when she dodges Liam’s punch to her arm. “Seriously, though. Just take it slow, see what happens. Join the football team. You can see if Niall -- sweaty and in shorts -- does it for you, whilst football does something for your CV. Win win.”

“What about if people say something?” Liam asks, and Harry should really pick up on the oh-too-innocent tone, but she barrels on regardless.

“If people say shit, they say shit. You shouldn’t let it hold you back,” Harry continues blithely, and Liam’s lips curl up into a smirk.

“What, like you?” she asks, and smirks even more when Harry groans. “Don’t whine, Styles. You know you’d love being on the team. Ashton told me. If I’m going for it, you’re going for it.”

“Ashton’s a dirty traitor,” Harry mutters. “And that’s blackmail.”

“No, that’s _manipulation_ ,” Liam says, enunciating the word. Harry is going to kick her. Well, not really, but it’s a pleasant thought. “Come on, Hazza. It’ll be fun, and you don’t do anything but creative writing. It’ll look good for you.”

Harry scowls. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Liam grins cheerfully. “No. And think about it: you can get back at Tomlinson for that time you absolutely bombed at rounders.”

Harry winces. “Oh, you heard about that?”

“Harry,” Liam begins gently. “I take sports studies. They frequently refer to the _Great_ _Rounders_ _Incident_ _of 2011_.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So promise you’ll come with me?”

“Fine.” Harry turns to go -- she is going to be very late -- when Liam grabs her arm. Harry raises her eyebrows at her, and Liam gives her an unholy grin. “Pinky or it didn’t happen.”

"Why does everyone keep using that against me?"

****  


 

 

Football team tryouts are after school the next day. All her friends seem to have become hugely invested in her and Liam’s future sporting careers, because all Harry gets that day is advice. Nick sticks a picture of Kelly Smith to her locker and writes under it: ‘Dream big and kick the ball’, which is pretty sweet for him.

Ashton buys her some black and white leg warmers which he claims will get her in the spirit. In the spirit of what, Harry’s not sure exactly, but she appreciates the gesture. Jade, who’s also in Liam’s sport studies class and on the team, gives Liam a serious pep talk that Liam promptly forgets as soon as she sees Harry, which is unhelpfulness at its extreme, it really is.

Eventually the bell rings, and Harry and Liam lope out to the school pitch. It’s quite big; a couple of acres of grass, with benches set up around the edge for home matches. The goal posts look absolutely massive as Harry trudges across the field, making her thank god fervently that she’s not a goalkeeper.

“I feel like we’re in _High_ _School_ _Musical_ ,” Liam mutters next to her, and Harry clasps a hand over her mouth to stop herself giggling.

“ _I’m soaring_ , _flying_ ,” Harry sings quietly, doing a little dance with her feet.

“ _There’s_ _no_ _star_ _in heaven_ _we can’t_ _reach_ ,” they croon together, then both collapse in giggles when one of the other players give them a strange look.

Harry knows most of the girls who are playing. There’s Niall, of course, and Jade, a bubbly brunette with the cutest dimples Harry has ever seen. There’s also Zayn Malik, Louis’ best friend, who is the intimidating kind of attractive that makes you feel like you have the sex appeal of a rock.

Zayn looks up as they approach and narrows her eyes when she sees Harry. Harry bites her lip, but Zayn must come to some kind of decision because she looks away, going back to her stretches.

“Hey, you came,” Niall says happily, bouncing up to them. She’s still wearing her snapback, and she’s got a Derby County shirt on with the word ‘Bamford’ in stocky, black letters on the back. “Thank Christ. We definitely need ‘ya. Perrie, our defender, left to go to some kind of fancy art college, and someone else dropped out, so we’re screwed.”

Niall cackles, and waves a hand, gesturing over to Zayn. “Still crying about Edwards, aren’t you, Zayn?”

Zayn gives her a look that would freeze the sun, but Niall seems oblivious, happy to babble on. “Right. Word of warning, girls: Louis’ a bitch -”

“Niall,” Zayn admonishes lazily, but it doesn’t seem particularly sharp.

“ - a bitch we love and adore, yeah? But a bitch nonetheless. She takes this real serious, so don’t piss around or she’ll make you do suicide runs until you actually commit suicide.” Niall wrinkles her nose delicately, looking almost ethereal in her all-white kit. “Well, maybe not that extreme, ‘cause then we wouldn’t have enough players, but still.”

“Just don’t piss her off,” Zayn offers simply, an almost bored expression on her face. “Or she will maim you and I’m not cleaning up the blood.”

“Oh, and she doesn’t like you, Styles,” Niall says cheerfully. Harry stares at her, a ‘What the hell?’ about to fall from her lips, when Niall raises a hand and waves. “Hey, Lou!”

Harry’s first thought is that Zayn is completely right about the maiming, but she probably wouldn’t mind the extreme blood loss because Louis is _gorgeous_.

Her legs are tanned and toned, and Harry can see the flex of her thighs when she walks. Her shirt is tight, and Harry can see the curve of her breasts, the jut of her collarbone. Her brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but tinted in the sunlight it looks almost auburn. Her blue eyes are focused and determined, and Harry thinks if she was close enough she’d be able to count every single eyelash.

“Harry,” Liam hisses. “You’re staring.”

“Liam,” Harry hisses back. “I am so fucking screwed.”

For a moment -- just a fleeting, blissful second -- Harry imagines this might actually go well. Louis and Harry will bond over sports stories, Harry can help her with her physio, and Louis can sit next to Harry in Psychology. They’ll be best buddies, braiding each other’s hair and telling secrets at sleepovers. It’ll be like St.Trinian’s, but with more sport. And less arson.

Then Louis opens her mouth, and Harry’s Girl Guide fantasies are completely shattered.

“Harry Styles,” Louis sneers disbelievingly, glaring at Niall. “Harry Styles? No way. She has the coordination of a drunk driver.”

Harry hates her.

Niall sighs, pulling her hat down more tightly on her head. “Shut up, Louis. She’s the only other girl who turned up.” Harry’s about to thank Niall for that unfailing support when Niall continues. “Plus, I bet she’s a really good runner, and we need her.”

“No,” Louis protests firmly, giving Harry a fleeting once over that makes her skin crawl. “Last week she tripped over a bin in the canteen.”

Harry’s about to protest, when she realises that did actually happen. In her defense, the bin was in her way. Sort of. Not really. It was on the other side of the room.

“Louis -” Niall begins, when Harry decides she’s had enough.

“I am right here,” she says loudly, and she can almost hear the crack when Louis’ head whips around to stare at her.

“ _Why_?” Louis asks, and Harry feels her insides shrivel up and die.

“Because I want to play,” she states, clenching her fists. “And because whether you like it or not, you need more players. You really can’t afford to be picky.”

“I really can,” Louis drawls, placing her hands on her hips. Louis crosses her arms, spreading her fingers over her ribs, and Harry is suddenly hit by how much smaller Louis is than her, how Harry’s hands would look over Louis’ hips, fingers pressing against the warm skin.

“Er, you really can’t, Lou,” Niall points out cheerfully, bouncing on the heels of her shoes. “You need eleven players remember? And we have nine, so - “

“Fine,” Louis bites out, looking as if it’s anything but. “I’ll let you try out.”

“Thanks for that privilege,” Harry spits before she can stop herself. There’s something about Louis that irritates her, gets under her skin like a splinter and won’t let go. She’s not sure if it’s a good or bad thing. Harry’s never been very good at controlling her feelings, and it’d probably be best for everyone if she didn’t become mortal enemies with the team captain.

Louis just raises a supercilious eyebrow, before splitting them into pairs to do some passing exercises.

“What did you do to piss off Louis already?” Jade grins, kicking the ball neatly towards Harry. Harry stops it with the side of her foot, thankfully, and places her foot on top of it.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, kicking that ball back to Jade. “Is she always that…”

“Heinous?” Jade supplies, dimpling prettily. “Sadistic? A power crazy dictator?”

“I was going to say demanding,” Harry says, grinning. “But those work too.”

Jade laughs, bending down to tie one of her laces tighter. Jade’s a midfielder. Being the smallest girl on pitch works as an advantage as she’s one of the fastest girls on the team. It means she’s almost always ahead of the opposition, able to pass the ball straight to the attackers. She’s nice, but Harry can already see the competitive gleam in her eye when Harry’s pass goes a little wide.

“Nah, she’s lovely really,” Jade reassures her. “She’s put so much into this, honestly. She’s a great captain, too. Once, after I’d gotten absolutely hammered at this party, she walked me all the way home.” Jade bites her lip in thought. “And she only made me do fifty push ups the next day, even though I vomited all over her new shoes.”

“Right,” Harry nods. Louis’ team is certainly loyal.

She can see Liam practising with Zayn to her left, easily passing the ball back and forth. There’s a fluidity to their movements that Harry can’t quite place, as if Liam already knows how fast Zayn’s going to pass it, adjusting minutely to receive the shot.

Louis blows the whistle -- where did she even get that from? -- and calls them over. “Right, now we’re going to practise our tackles. Last year that was our main weakness. Our formation was good, but we tended to fall apart once an opposing player had broken through. If we’re going to use an offensive technique, it has to be one that doesn’t disintegrate the moment we get a retaliation.”

Louis starts pairing everyone up. There’s eleven of them, so Jesy, their goalkeeper, offers to sit out. “Do your job properly and I won’t even have to touch the ball,” she says cheekily, and Louis flips her off good-naturedly.

“Do some shuttle runs to stay warmed up,” Louis orders, then turns to Harry. “Styles, you’re with me.”

Liam, who’s with Zayn again, gives Harry a sympathetic look, but Harry just sets her shoulders resolutely. She’s not sure what Louis’ problem is, but she’s not about to back down to her.

“I’ll start,” Louis orders shortly. It’s not a question. There’s two cones set up behind Harry, and two behind Louis, set up as makeshift goals.

“Right,” Harry answers, but Louis’ already off, and Harry’s having to run forward at top speed.

The thing is, Louis is good - insanely good. She’s light and quick on her feet, effectively dodging Harry’s tackle before she even really gets there, neatly and capably shooting the ball through Harry’s cone.

She dribbles the ball back, ponytail bouncing, cheeks pink, and she smirks at her. “Your go,” she drawls, and passes the ball hard enough that it hurts when Harry stops it. Harry refuses to wince, she _refuses_.

In the time it takes for Louis to jog back to her spot, Harry has a plan in place. When Harry had tried to tackle her, Louis had dodged to the right. Therefore, if Harry feigns going left, but really goes right, she might be able to catch her out.

Okay, so she’s not going to win tactician of the year, but it’s the best (and only) plan she’s got.

By some miracle, it actually works. Maybe Louis’ just a bit over-cocky, but Harry swoops in and steals the ball off her by the skin of her teeth, slamming the ball past the cones in a triumphant arc. She woops happily, scooping the ball up, then turns to Louis and freezes.

Louis looks livid. Harry throws the ball back to her clumsily, and takes her place. This would be the part in the Western where they draw guns, her mind supplies helpfully. She may be hysterical. There’s something curling in her stomach, heady apprehension that makes her heart beat faster.

They both dive forward, and frankly, it was going to be a blood bath from the start. Harry’s not sure who plays dirtier -- it’s definitely up for debate -- but they collide, unstoppable force meets immovable object, and they crash to the floor.

Harry slams into the ground, crying out as her back hits the hard turf. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, and she barely has time to recover when the breath is knocked out of her by Louis’ own fall, her bony elbow catching Harry in the stomach.

Harry is busy trying to remember how to breathe, but then there’s a soft hand cradling her head, small fingers stroking her skull. Louis’ fingers carefully comb through her hair, thumb just catching on the sensitive skin of Harry’s ear.

“Harry,” Louis calls urgently, and Harry’s eyes snap to her face. Her stomach flips when she sees how wide Louis’ eyes are, the panic swimming in the stormy blue. She’s close enough Harry can see the tiny freckles under her right eye, and her eyes unconsciously drop to Louis’ lips. She exhales, very slowly.

“Harry!” Liam shouts from somewhere, and Louis pulls back so quickly Harry feels dizzy. She has an irrational urge to reach out and pull Louis back in, tangle her hands in Louis’ shirt.

“I’m fine,” Harry sighs, pushing herself up. Her head throbs, but she’s pretty sure she hasn’t cracked anything important.

Liam grasps her hands, giving her an extra tug, but she overdoes it and Harry stumbles. A warm hand presses against her back, steadying her, but when Harry looks Louis has already moved over to talk to Zayn. She’s not sure she didn’t imagine it.

“Practise is over guys,” Louis calls loudly, and Harry must be imagining the flush on her cheeks. Maybe Louis just expels some hallucinating hormone whenever Harry’s around. “Well done today, it’s good to see we don’t completely suck.”

“Thanks for those kind words of confidence,” Zayn mutters, and Louis elbows her in the ribs.

“As I was saying,” Louis says loudly, side eyeing Zayn, “Our basic skills are good, but we could all work on our rudimentary fitness. Try a half an hour run each day, or some kind of cardio routine. I’ll ask Coach Teasdale if she’ll set us up with some circuit training. Apart from that, well done.”

Most of the girls slope off to the changing rooms -- Louis and Zayn included -- but Niall hangs behind, grinning at Harry.

“How did it go, Harry?” Niall asks, slinging an arm around Harry with easy affection. “I saw you go down. Are you okay?”

“I think I’ll make it, Doctor,” Harry jokes, and Niall laughs. “What about you? Do we make the cut?”

“The Tommo would have barbequed you by now if not.” Niall lets go of Harry to loop her arm through Liam’s; “you were pretty good too, Leemo. Zayn’s impressed, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Liam murmurs shyly, colouring prettily, and Harry sends her a subtle smile.

“Well, I’m off!” Niall grabs her kit from where she’d left it by the side. “I’ve got a lift home, so I’ll see you guys tomorrow?”

Harry and Liam both wave at her, and when she’s gone, Harry turns to Liam and wiggles her eyebrows. “Don’t make that face, you look like a serial killer,” Liam huffs, shoving Harry slightly. “What about you? I saw you throw yourself at Tomlinson.”

“I didn’t throw myself at her!” Harry scowls, affronted. “I was tackling her! It was genuine, real life football technique.”

“Oh,” Liam tone is deliberately innocent, “I thought that was your genuine, real life flirting technique.”

“You’re a horrible person,” Harry says flatly. “I hope you know that.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, though?” Liam questions anxiously. She gently touches Harry’s head. “I didn’t really see it. You haven’t got concussion or anything?”

“No, but don’t tell Louis that, it’d only depress her.” Harry sighs, leaning back into Liam’s touch as she pets her hair. “She hates me.”

“You’re impossible to hate,” Liam says firmly. She opens the door to the changing rooms with one hand, keeping her hand in Harry’s hair. “You’re like a gangly, fluffy, kitten child.”

“Thanks, Li.” Harry grins. “I can honestly say I’ve never heard that compliment before.”

“Shut up,” Liam laughs, pulling her hair out her tie and grabbing her bag. Liam’s dad is picking them up, so there’s no point in getting changed, but Harry’s seriously looking forward to a shower. “And no one said anything to you, right?”

Harry blinks, momentarily taken aback. “No, I guess not.” Liam sighs sadly, squeezing one of Harry’s hands. “I’m going to go call my dad, okay? The reception in here is shit.”

Harry nods, sitting down on one of the benches as Liam slips out. Her thighs ache, but in a pleasant kind of burning way, like all her synapses are saying well done for exercising so much. She flexes her ankle slowly, rubbing a hand absentmindedly over her head. It doesn’t hurt so much now, the pain slowly receding like a bad dream.

“Were you really worried about that?” a sharp voice calls, and Harry nearly brains herself -- again -- on the wall, it makes her jump so much.

“What?” Harry asks dully as Louis walks around the corner. She hadn’t even known she was there, but Louis just grabs her bag from the peg opposite Harry, slinging it over her shoulder.

“Were you worried about people saying stuff?” Louis demands, crossing her arms. Harry’s still sitting down, so Louis is taller than her. It should be probably intimidate Harry, but it just makes her stomach flip.

“Well, I guess.” Harry frowns, not sure why Louis’ so angry. “You were here in Year 10, right? You have to know the amount of stick I got - “

“No one’s going to do that here,” Louis snaps, tone brittle. The emotions on her face are flitting by so fast Harry can’t read them. “I’ll make sure that no one’s mean to you, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry says dumbly, still unsure what Louis’ talking about. It’s not like Harry’s accused any of the team, but Louis seems to have taken it personally.

“Niall’s bi,” Louis’ defiant, arms still crossed. “And no one cares about that. I’ll talk to them. They won’t do anything.”

“Right,” Harry is completely thrown. “Right. Thank you.”

Louis seems taken aback now, biting her lip hard before turning her head. “Don’t mention it,” she mumbles. Then, “No, really don’t mention it.”

She adjusts her bag strap and strides out, not turning to look back at Harry. Harry watches her go, bemused. She has no idea what just happened.

“Harry,” Liam calls as she walks back in, phone in hand, “Dad’s waiting outside.” She stops when she sees Harry’s face. “Are you okay? I just saw Tomlinson leave. Did she say anything?”

“No,” Harry hesitates over the word, letting it linger on her tongue, getting to her feet. “It’s fine. Let’s go. I don’t want to keep your dad waiting.”

Liam gives her a funny look, but she knows her well enough not to question it. They walk out together, Liam chatting and Harry rubbing her hands over the back of her head. If she tries hard enough, she can almost feel the ghost of Louis’ fingers cradling her head. **  
**


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Zayn apparently takes it upon herself to teach Harry and Liam football.

Which is to say, she corners them before lunch and essentially stands there looking ridiculously attractive until Harry cracks and pulls on her trainers. She then pulls Liam along, too, because she’s not an idiot. If she has to suffer Zayn’s stupid (perfect) good looks, then Liam has to as well.

“Right,” Zayn begins, throwing Harry a ball. Harry catches it, fumbling for a second before wrapping her hands around the worn leather. She shivers as the cool air kisses her cheeks, tucks a strand of stray hair behind her ear.

“Me and Niall normally practise in this free,” Zayn explains, kicking her pumps off and pulling out some trainers from her bag. “But she missed the bus today, again, so it’s just us three.”

“Is she going to get to school okay?” Liam asks, ignoring Harry’s pointed look.

“Yeah, Josh will give her a lift,” Zayn answers casually. “Right, let’s get started.”

“Cool,” Liam says quietly, tugging on the ends of her ponytail, a nervous tic of hers. “Are we - particularly bad then?

Zayn shakes her head, grinning as she pulls her hair into a sloppy bun. “Nah, you’re good enough, but you need to practise with other team members. It’ll mean you’ll connect better on the field.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, more than a little nervous. “So what’s the plan?”

“We can do some passing back and forth,” Zayn instructs, “then we’ll practise setting up shots. Liam, I know you’re a midfielder, so you’ll be working with Harry. I’ll stand in as goalie, okay? Jesy’s our goalie but she hasn’t got a free at the moment.”

She begins to pass the ball to Harry, standing in a little triangle. It’s all pretty slow and laid back; they’ve only got one lesson left after this, but Harry doesn’t fancy braving the school showers before the end of lunch. The spiders in there are always huge.

“Do you normally sub for goalie?” Liam asks curiously, pulling her top off to reveal her blue vest underneath. Harry frowns as Zayn’s eyes track the movement, but Zayn’s looked away before she can call her on it. Maybe Zayn just likes the shirt.

“No, I’m just flexible,” Zayn smirks, lips tilting up in amusement. “I’m like Mystique. I take all forms.”

Harry barely has time to groan before she sees Liam perk up like a puppy. “You like X-men?”

Zayn smiles, properly smiles, so it lights up her whole face. “I love them! Did you see _Days of Future Past_ \- “

“Yes, my favourite was - “

Harry begins to do keepy-uppies.

“ - Quicksilver, I know, and he’s going to be in - “

“ _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , but - “

Harry does her 26th keepy-uppy.

“ - they’re having different actors, because it’s different timelines, and they have differents rights.”

“I know,” Liam sighs, pouting her lips adorably. “I wish they’d just make a film of all of them.”

“Me too.” Zayn’s faced is lined with sadness, as if they’re talking about child poverty and not fictional characters in spandex. Like, Harry can appreciate Natasha Romanov, but she’s not on the level of fangirl Liam -- and Zayn’s evidently -- is.

“Can we play football now?” Harry asks tentatively, a little worried to break Liam and Zayn out of the comic book daze they’ve fallen into. It’s like waking a sleepwalker. “Not that this isn’t fun. For you. Definitely not for me. Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sorry, Haz,” Liam apologizes sheepishly. “We got carried away, but if you’d seen the CGI used on Jennifer Lawrence - “

“There is a time to talk about Jennifer Lawrence’s naked body, Liam,” Harry says gently. “This is not it. Have some class.”

Zayn snorts at that, shooting Harry a sly little smile. Liam just rolls her eyes, stopping the ball that Harry aims at her. “Haz, your decision on what’s appropriate to talk about changes so much I get whiplash.” Liam suddenly looks at Zayn, and burns out laughing. “Whiplasshhh.”

Harry gives up.

Zayn nods approvingly when Harry stops the ball with the side of her foot, eyes flecked with honey in the weak sunlight. They form a little triangle, Liam to Harry to Zayn, the ball travelling easily between them.

“Have long have you been on the football team?” Harry asks Zayn, almost losing her balance on the muddy ground. She giggles a little, Liam smiling at her affectionately.

“Louis tricked me into joining.” Zayn grins, years of friendships and secrets in the curve of her lips. “Plus I couldn’t ditch her, even if she does pretend to be a one woman army.” She clears her throat. “It’s good you two have joined. It’s nice to get new girls.”

“Thanks.” Liam nudges Zayn with her shoulder. Her grin wavers; Harry can see the nervousness dancing behind it. “Nice to know we’re not going to be outcasts.”

“Louis’ tough, but she’s a good captain.” Zayn shrugs. “Didn’t you run cross country last year? Harry, I know you -” she cuts off, flushing. Harry sighs.

“Did you hear about the rounder thing as well?” she moans, pouting. “Does everyone know about that?”

“You do if you’re friends with Louis Tomlinson,” Zayn murmurs, then immediately looks like she regrets it. Harry blinks at her, confused, but Zayn purses her lips, and Harry doesn’t push it.

“I like the fact we have a girl’s football team,” Harry says slowly, trying to break the tension. “It wouldn’t be fair to just have boy’s one. It just reinforces stereotypes.”

“The blatant misogyny in sports does make me sick half the time,” Zayn agrees. Her tone is neutral, but Harry can see the way the lines around her mouth tighten. She kicks the ball harder, an almost indiscernible amount, but enough that it spins to the left.

“It sucks.” Harry scowls; it’s a petty word but she understands Zayn’s anger, feels her eloquence being squashed by the pressure in her chest. “A girl has to read the entire rulebook to prove she likes football. In five different languages. Backwards.”

Zayn cracks up at that at that, peals of laughter as she shakes her head. Her eyes are gleaming when she looks at Harry, new-found respect edged in them, and Harry feels a sense of belonging curve round her ribs.

Zayn walks with them to the canteen after football practice (though after Harry and Zayn have a heated feminist debate and then Liam and Zayn rehash the Marvel conference, not a lot of practising happens).

Harry trails behind them while they discuss the substitution of Mystique for Kitty in _X-Men: Days of Future Past_. Zayn spares Harry a quirk of her mouth, but she gives Liam a full blown grin when she starts discussing the new _Avengers_ trailer. Pink dances over Liam’s cheeks, and her brown eyes shine.

Harry feels like a little girl again, following Gemma and her friends around, talking about big girl things like makeup and boys.

Louis is waiting for them when they get to the hall, and Harry’s breath hitches in her throat when she sees her. It’s like Louis’s taken all the oxygen in the room, keeping it trapped in her hands leaving none for Harry.

She’s wearing blue skinny jeans with the bottoms rolled up, the flex of her tanned ankles showing. Her fringe is lying messily over her face, and the sleeves of her jumper are just too long, hanging over the tips of her fingers in sweater paws. She reminds Harry of a lion cub, ridiculously cuddly but likely to bite your hand off if you try to pet her.

She’s texting on her phone when they approach, butterflies in Harry’s stomach for no conceivable reason. She looks up through the lashes as they get closer, blue eyes narrowing. Zayn gives them a little wave as she and Louis head off. Louis doesn’t even look at them.

“Liam, I can’t drive, can I?” Harry drawls, watching as people physically run out of the way to avoid Louis.

Liam blinks at her. “Er, no.”

“Good, then I can’t have run over Louis’ nan, right?” Harry asks savagely, crossing her arms and pouting. She looks like a toddler having a tantrum, but she honestly doesn’t care. Louis Tomlinson has reduced her to this level of maturity. “I don’t get why she hates me, I really don’t.”

“Why do you care?” Liam asks pointedly, holding the door open for Harry as they head for their table. “You don’t have to like her to be on her team. You just have to do what she says. Put the team first and all that.”

“Yeah, because that totally works,” Harry scoffs, slamming her satchel down with a little more force than necessary. “Name one successful team where a team member hates the leader.”

Liam thinks about it for a moment, then says, “Iron Man hates Captain America.”

“Iron Man wants to _bone_ Captain America,” Harry says scathingly, ripping the lid of her yogurt. “Even I can tell that. No one maintains eye contact for that long without having some serious eye fuckery going on. And I don’t want to bone Louis Tomlinson, okay?”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Louis Tomlinson drones from behind her, and Harry -- Just. Why is this her life? This never happens to anyone else.

“Shut up,” Harry snaps furiously, even though she can tells she’s turning an unappealing shade of scarlet. “What do you want?”

“Calm down,” Louis coos, raising one eyebrow. Her whole manner is patronising, like she’s speaking to a child. “I just came over to tell you the next football practice is on Thursday. But it’s good to know you’re not going to jump me anytime soon.”

“Have you got anywhere else to be?” Harry asks crossly, hands clenched in fists.

“Well, yeah.” Louis frowns. “Obviously. Don’t be late, yeah? Thursday.”

“Looking forward to it,” Harry spits, and Louis just rolls her eyes before leaving.

Harry’s quietly seething (read: seething loudly), when Liam coughs next to her. Harry glares at her, and Liam just sighs, patting Harry’s knee consolingly. “I’m sure she’ll warm up to you.”

“We better buy a bigger radiator then,” Harry says icily, and stabs her _Activia_ yogurt with her spoon. She pretends it’s Louis’ face. It’s strangely cathartic.

****  
  


 

 

 

“Hey, this is Gemma Styles. Leave a message, unless you’re the bank, BT, selling something, or a serial killer. Sorry, mum. I know you won’t find that last one funny.”

Harry crumples, pressing the end call button on her phone with such force it hurts. She actually has a little imprint of a telephone on her thumb.

Harry huffs, rolling onto her back on her bed, staring up at her ceiling. She’d wanted to call Gemma tonight, tell her about the football team. Ask her what to do to stop Louis being such a bitch. Gemma would’ve known what to do. Gemma would have marched down here and kicked Louis’ arse herself.

Gemma’s voicemail isn’t so satisfying. Or arse kicking. Or any help at all.

Harry sighs, biting at her bottom lip. She tastes the faint metallic tang of blood, so she lets go. There’s a meow by her feet, then Dusty jumps onto her bed. She lands on Harry’s chest with a thud, effectively cutting off Harry’s air supply.

Great. Now her cat’s trying to suffocate her. It’s a sign from the Gods. Leave the football team forever, or you will be abused by animals for the rest of your life.

Harry misses Gemma. She would’ve have found that funny. Well, no, she’d probably roll her eyes a lot first, but she would laugh eventually.

Dusty’s getting dangerously sleepy-heavy, so Harry picks her up before she can doze off, dumping her on the duvet. Dusty wheezes indignantly, but soon curls up on Harry’s pillow. Great. So she’ll be waken up by a mouthful of black fur tomorrow. Fantastic.

However, because Harry is a) a sap and b) feeling sorry for herself, she does drag Dusty into her lap, cuddling up to her. She grabs her iPod too, scrolling through her albums until she finds the _Frozen_ soundtrack. So she likes Disney. Sue her. Only axe murderers don’t like Disney.

She’s halfway through _Love Is An Open Door_ when her mum opens the door with a wry smile. Harry shrugs apologetically, pulling her headphones out. “A little loud?”

“At least you haven’t gotten to _Let it Go_ ,” her mum says wryly, perching on the end of the bed. “What’s wrong? I thought you were ringing Gemma?”

“So did I,” Harry huffs moodily, shaking her head. “It went to voicemail.”

“Harry,” Anne exhales, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry wiggles into her mum’s side, breathing in the familiar scent of her mum’s perfume and home. “You know Gemma’s at university now,” she continues gently, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “She’s going to be busy. I know it’s hard.”

Harry mumbles something unintelligible, dragging Dusty back onto her lap. She’d been dislodged when Anne had sat down, but she doesn’t seem that bothered about being dragged around. Harry has the laziest cat in the world.

“No one else has - said anything, have they?” Anne asks nervously, face paling. “No one’s bullying you, Harry, because I’ll call the school - “

“No one’s bullying me, mum,” Harry promises, though something warm settles in her chest at the words. Her mum’s always supported her, ever since she told her she was gay all those years ago. She’d simply kissed Harry on the forehead, told her she didn’t mind who Harry was with as long as they treated her right, and did she want pasta or fajitas for tea?

Harry’s mum is pretty awesome.

“I just miss Gemma,” Harry admits. “She’s not done until June, and even then she never spends time with me. I miss her.”

“I know,” Anne nods, squeezing Harry's hand, “I know. I’ll try to have a word with her, okay?”

Harry shakes her head. “No, that’ll just make it worse. I don’t want to make a fuss about it.”

“Hm,” Anne murmurs skeptically, but thankfully she doesn’t say anything else, just strokes Harry’s hair. “I’m so proud of you for getting on the football team! Do you know when your first match is? Me and Robin will definitely come.”

Harry grins. “Yeah, it’s great. The captain’s a bit - er. Demanding.”

“Who’s the captain?”

“Louis Tomlinson.”

“Oh, the one with all the little sisters? I saw her mum in Tesco the other day, with the youngest two.”

“That’s her,” Harry agrees, trying desperately not to think of Louis playing with tiny, blond versions of herself. “She’s a bit ... high maintenance.”

“Well, she’s got a lot of responsibility,” Anne says kindly, and Harry resists the urge to snort. “I know Jay a little, and she had a really bad divorce when Louis was only ten. Her new husband’s lovely, but it can’t have been easy to raise a family by yourself for three years.”

“Oh,” Harry says, squirming slightly. She swallows, throat tight with guilt. Still, her own dad left her when she was seven, and she turned out alright. They’re way better off with Robin anyway, he’s more of a dad than Des was. “Right.”

“Maybe try to talk to her,” Anne suggests, kissing the top of her head. “I’m making sausage pasta for tea, do you want to give us a hand? We can have ice-cream after, if you like.”

“Okay.” Harry smiles. “Thanks, mum.”

She follows her mum downstairs, only glancing back into her room once. Her mobile is thrown carelessly on her bed, screen dark.

****  


 

 

 

 

“So I’ve got some good news,” Ashton announces cheerfully, throwing himself down into his seat in psychology on Thursday. His hair is particularly fluffy today, and he’s wearing large black glasses. Harry’s pretty sure Ashton doesn’t even need glasses, he just thinks he looks quirky.

“You’ve done your psychology homework for once?” Harry asks, giggling when Ashton tries to hit her with his psychology book.

“We don’t even have any,” Ashton insists. “You’re just saying that to freak me out. No. Look, you know Luke?”

“You mean one quarter of your little foursome from music?” Harry teases, smiling. As much as she knows she’s secretly the love of Ashton’s life, he’s ridiculously infatuated with these three boys from his music class. Harry’s met one of them, Callum, and she’s pretty sure Ashton just attracts boys who are secretly fluffy teddy bears.

“Yeah, hilarious.” Ashton scowls, but he can’t keep it up for long, sunny grin soon breaking through. “No, Luke said he’s throwing a party on Saturday, and he said you and Liam can come. Ask all the girls from your footie team, too.”

“I’m not really a party person.” Harry hesitates, tugging her bottom lip with her teeth. “I don’t know, Ash - “

“Please come,” Ashton whines, pouting. “You never come out! You’re like one of those creepy hermits.”

“That’s so offensive.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No I don’t!”

“Okay, whatever, just come. Please? You can meet the boys from music, and drink toxic mixtures of alcohol, and pretend you’re having a good time.”

“God, Ashton, you’re really selling it to me.”

“Please,” Ashton whines, and Harry caves in, unable to resist his puppy eyes for too long.

“Fine, but do I have to wear anything fancy?” Harry asks, mentally flicking through her wardrobe. She’s not sure she has anything that isn’t skinny jeans or band tees. Maybe Liam’s right when she calls her a hipster.

“Wear what you want.” Ashton shrugs unhelpfully, then his eyes widen. “Do you want me to invite Tomlinson?” he whispers, even though Louis is sitting on the other side of the classroom. “Does she still - “

“Hate my guts? Yeah, I’d say so.” Harry snaps her eyes up, glancing over to where Louis’ sitting. “She’d probably rip your curls off if you asked her.”

“Then we won’t ask her.” Ashton smirks. He rips a page out of his psychology book, then writes in block letters **DO YOU WANT TO COME TO A SUPER RAD PARTY AT LUKES HOUSE ON SATURDAY FREE BOOZE + SWEATY BODIES**. Underneath he’s drawn a little **Y/N,** and a **CIRCLE ONE** underneath it.

He folds it and writes **PASS TO LOUIS** in massive letters, then gives it to the girl behind him. Harry can’t help giggling when it finally gets to Louis and she opens it, eyebrows arching. Harry glances to the clock; they’ve got five minutes until Mr Cardle arrives. If Louis’ going to do anything, she has to do it now.

Louis closes the note ever so slowly, then stands up. Harry’s heart starts to beat in her chest, as Louis takes measured steps across the room, her skinny jeans clinging to her hips. Louis stops when she gets to Harry’s desk. She leans over, unrushed, and Harry physically can’t breathe.

She can see the curve of Louis’ breasts, her white t-shirt not low enough to reveal anything, but tight enough it makes Harry’s stomach flip. Her hair hides her face like a curtain, and Harry feels as if it’s just them in a little bubble, her and Louis, and Louis’ piercing blue eyes.

Louis slams the note on the desk, and Harry jumps. Louis just rolls her eyes, walking back to her seat and sitting down with a bored expression on her face. She hears Ashton exhale and then mumble, “Well, that was hot,” but Harry’s already opening the note.

The ‘ **Y** ’ has been circled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“This one?”

Harry doesn’t look up from her book. “Is it plaid?”

“No.”

“That’s a lie,” Harry hums, turning a page, and she hears Liam’s indignant huff. “How do you even know that? You weren’t even looking!”

“Because the last ten shirts have been plaid.” Harry declares, putting her book down. Liam is, of course, holding a blue plaid shirt. She tries to hide it behind her back when Harry raises an eyebrow, scowling at her. “Liam, you have to look a little different at least.”

“You don’t even want to go,” Liam argues, balling her shirt up and throwing it at Harry’s head. “Do you think we should call Nick? We should call Nick.”

“Because he’s gay? Liam, that is such a stereotype.”

“No, because he’s the best dressed in our group,” Liam says, rolling her eyes. “He actually wears more than one outfit a week. And he once called me a lumberjack, so. Maybe he can point us in the right direction.”

“We’re not so socially stunted that we need someone to pick what to wear for us.” Harry pouts, slinging her legs over the side of her bed. “I do have some pride. Show me what you brought.”

Eventually, Harry picks out some sky blue jeans for Liam, with a flowy white vest top. She picks out a denim jacket as well, then lets her hazel hair curl over her shoulders. “Gorgeous,” Harry says decisively, grinning when Liam blushes. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump you.”

“No, that’s Louis.” Liam smirks, and Harry shoves her. “Ow, calm down. Let’s pick something out for you now.”

Eventually Harry picks a blue button up, with skinny black jeans and her favourite boots. She hesitates, before undoing a couple of her buttons, so her cross necklace lies in the hollow of her throat.

“You look nice,” Liam compliments softly, and Harry gives her an impromptu hug. “Alright. Let’s go and be less socially stunted than usual.”

Harry grins, shaking her head. “I doubt we can promise that.”

****  
  
  
  
  


 

Everyone is drunk.

Harry notices this the third time someone pukes in the room behind her. She thinks it’s the kitchen. Apparently that is the place to be if you want to vomit.

She wrinkles her nose, running a finger around the rim of her glass. She half-heartedly chugged a mini-bottle of Smirnoff earlier, and she’s the kind of drunk that makes her vision a little hazy, a pleasant warmth spreading through her down to her toes.

After the fourth person throws up their liver - and their heart, kidneys, and bladder by the noise they’re making - Harry pushes herself off from the wall, heading over to where Liam is sitting on the sofa.

Liam doesn’t drink as a rule, her kidney’s a bitch, so she’s just holding a glass of water, chatting to Ashton. Ashton grins at her as she heads over, smacking a kiss to her cheek. “I’m going to find Luke,” he shouts over the music, the bass thrumming hard enough it reverberates in her collarbone. “See you in a bit, Hazza. Look after this one.”

He gestures to Liam with one thumb, and Harry immediately takes his place on the sofa. She snuggles up to Liam, resting her head in the crook of her shoulder. Liam softens straight away so Harry’s more comfy, not even flinching when Harry’s cold bottle touches her arm.

“What’s the matter, Payno?” Harry mumbles into Liam’s hair. Liam’s hair smells like strawberries. Maybe Louis would like her if her hair smelled like strawberries. It’s possible Harry’s a little drunker than she thought.

“Niall’s got a boyfriend,” Liam says miserably, and Harry snaps her head up to look at her in surprise. Only she’s a little sluggish, so she ends up headbutting Liam’s chin.

“Aghh, sorry,” Harry squeals, stroking Liam’s chin. Liam gently removes her hands, putting them in Harry’s lap.

“It’s fine.” Liam pauses. “Look over there.”

Harry glances over to see Niall dancing with a boy with brown hair. She’s got her arms wrapped around his neck, and is wearing cut-off denim shorts and a crop top with Crazy Mofos emblazoned across it. The boy has his arms resting on the middle of Niall’s back, charmingly chaste and gentle.

“Maybe they’re just friends,” Harry reasons, watching the pair. “That’s not particularly incriminating, they could just be - oh. No. That’s a bit of tongue. Yep, definitely a French kiss. But that’s not definitive. It could just be a friendly gesture between the two. Like a wave hello.”

“How much have you had to drink, Haz?” Liam asks, voice laced in fondness and the tinge of disappointment. “Come on, let’s go get you a drink of water.”

She links arms with Harry as they head to the kitchen. Harry doesn’t fancy slipping in vomit, but she stops Ashton in the crowd and sweet talks him into getting a glass for her. “You owe me your psychology homework for a week,” he growls as he hands her a glass. “And possibly a new pair of Vans.”

“Thank you,” Harry sing-songs, giving him a quick hug. “Did you find Luke?”

She takes a huge gulp of water, teeth aching at the frigid liquid. Ashton must have got some out of a pitcher in the fridge. She can already feel her head beginning to clear, the water clearing her mind, then rejuvenating her body, spreading through her like ripples in a pond.

“Yeah, he’s in the room down the hall,” Ashton says happily, taking a sip from his own drink. It’s multi-coloured; Harry’s not sure even Ashton knows what’s in it. “He’s got the other guys from music class with him, he’s going to show us some riffs on the guitar.”

“Well aren’t you an indie film waiting to happen?” Harry quips, and Ashton sticks his tongue out at her.

“Harry, all you watch are indie films,” Liam points out, exasperated, and Ashton laughs.

“This is Luke’s house,” Ashton reminds her, adjusting his red bandana. He looks ridiculous and heartbreakingly adorable at the same time. “It’s not that surprising he’s got a guitar stashed somewhere.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry frowns, and Ashton laughs, tapping the bottom of her cup. “Drink up, Styles. See you later, Liam.”

They head back to the sofa after that, Harry’s steps steadier with every step, and collapse onto the comfy cushions. “So, Niall.” Niall is still dancing with the boy, and they don’t look like pythons eating each other anymore, but they do look sickeningly good together.

“It’s not as if my heart’s broken,” Liam says quietly, snuggling closer to Harry. “It just sucks. The first person I like after Daniel, the first girl I like, and she’s taken. It sucks.”

“Do you want to skip out on the party?” Harry asks quietly. “We can go home, cry over Chris Hemsworth’s abs.”

Liam’s about to reply - a yes, obviously, because that’s the inevitable answer when it comes to Chris Hemsworth’s abs - when Zayn settles down on the sofa next to Harry.

She looks amazing, and Harry’s jealous in an admiring kind of way. Zayn’s in a white top with a black rose splashed across it, tight enough Harry can see the purple straps of her bra. Her eye makeup is smoky and dark, and her hair tied back in a messy side braid. Harry sees Liam struggle up a little, straightening her back.

“Have you seen Louis?” Zayn questions, black nails tapping out an agitated tempo of the side of her cup. “She pissed off with Niall for a bit, but Niall’s over there swallowing Josh, and I have no idea where Lou’s gone.”

“Josh?” Harry repeats lightly, squeezing Liam’s thigh surreptitiously.

“Yeah, her boyfriend,” Zayn replies absentmindedly, and Harry feels Liam wince beside her. “He’s the one who gave her a lift in when she missed the bus. And he gets her from football practice. They’ve been together for -- what, month now? It’s cute. He doesn’t go to sixth form, though. He’s taking a sound engineering course, I think.”

“Right,” Liam says dumbly, but the smile she musters is genuine. “They’re a cute couple.”  
  
The thing is, Liam actually means it, because Liam is like a puppy dog that just wants everyone to be happy. She gets slightly confused if she gets a smack on the nose, but in the end she’ll just come back and love you double the amount.

“Yeah, they are,” Zayn echoes softly, lip quirking as Niall rests her head on Josh’s shoulder. “What about you?”

She’s directing it to both of them, but Harry gets the impression it’s Liam’s answer she’s anticipating. Liam’s hazel eyes crinkle at the edges in confusion, biting her lower lip. “Er, no one. I broke up with my boyfriend a little while ago. Before school started.”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn apologizes quietly, and they stand in awkward silence for a moment, until Jade bounces over. Her blue hair has been dip-dyed with purple, and she’s got glittery purple eyeshadow to match.

“We’re playing vodka-ball!” She grins, happy and dizzy and glowing with the effects of alcohol. Harry should’ve known Jade was a happy drunk. “Like football, but if you miss a shot you take a shot. Of vodka. ‘Cause it’s vodka ball. Get it?”

“They get it.” Jesy steps up behind her, wearing a tight black peplum dress and killer heels. “You remember when we talked about things being self-explanatory?”

“No,” Jade pouts, and everyone laughs. “Come play, Leeeyum and Zaynie.”

“I can’t drink,” Liam points out, but Jade just shakes her head, curls flying everywhere as she tugs on Liam’s arm.

“You can just be something pretty for Zaynie to look at.” Jade grins dopily. Zayn flushes behind her, and isn’t that interesting? Harry will have to look into that. Preferably when she isn’t surrounded by sweaty bodies, or feeling the start of a hangover.

“Okay,” Liam acquiesces bemusedly, throwing one last despondent glance at Niall before looking away. She’s nice enough not to remove Jade’s death grip on her arm, or address the fact she’s trying to steal Liam’s shoulder bag. “You coming, Harry?”

“No, I might go see Ashton for a bit,” Harry declines the offer, amusing as it is, taking a big gulp of water. “Vodka ball doesn’t sound like the perfect accompaniment to an early shift at the bakery tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Liam says, still being tugged away by a determined Jade. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay? Call me if you need me.”

“Will do,” Harry promises, smiling ruefully. She watches Liam being dragged off and laughs to herself, before heading off to find Ashton. She pushes through the crowd, swearing lowly as she almost gets a face full of vodka, just dodging the cup in time.

She stumbles back a few steps, accidentally bumping into someone behind her. She turns around to apologise, when her head snaps up to meet Louis Tomlinson’s eyes.

Her makeup is slightly smudged, little streaks of mascara underneath her eyelids. She’s in cut off shorts like Niall, and Harry stares at her legs, her thighs, transfixed by the tanned muscle. She swallows, mouth dry, as Louis’ lips curve up into a smile. She looks wild, and very pretty, and all kinds of dangerous.

“Styles,” Louis drawls, and Harry wants to ask when this became a bad spy film, but she’s distracted by Louis reaching for her necklace. Louis’ fingers are warm, and they leave little sparks when they trail through the chain of Harry’s necklace, pads of her fingers rough against Harry’s skin.

“Are you drunk?” Harry asks cautiously, and Louis grins at her, teeth sharp, lip gloss just smudged.

“Not drunk enough,” Louis murmurs, and she curls one hand around Harry’s neck. Harry can’t _breathe_ , Louis’ hand warm and heavy. She’s standing on her tiptoes slightly, and it makes Harry’s stomach flip for some reason. Louis tugs on one of Harry’s curls, a slight jolt of pain, heat flashing through her. Their bodies sway together, and Harry tries not to think about how they fit together, like pieces of a puzzle.

“Let’s get out of here,” Louis mutters, and then she’s grabbing Harry’s hand, tugging her through the crowd.

Harry’s not even sure what’s going on. All she can feel is Louis’ hand in hers, small and hot, pulling her past everyone, heading for upstairs. Part of her brain is letting off a warning alarm, an abort signal, but all she can focus on is the curve of Louis’ arse in her shorts, the way the translucent fabric of her shirt pulls over her shoulders.

She blinks when Louis pulls a door open, hauling her inside with a strength Harry didn’t know she had.

“Louis - “ she begins, and then Louis is pressing her against the wall roughly, and kissing her.

Louis’ kisses like she plays football: merciless and unrelentless, passionate and out to win. Her lips are soft beneath Harry’s but she kisses fiercely, tongue sliding into Harry’s mouth, kissing her hard, slanting her head to get a better angle.

She wraps her arms around Harry’s neck, pinning Harry to the wall with her own body, soft breasts pressing against her own. She tastes like vodka and lip gloss, sharp and intoxicating, and Harry can’t help the little whines and gasps that escape her. She realises Louis’s trying to win _her_ , and it sparks something in her core, propels her forward.

Harry swivels them around so Louis’s the one pressed to the wall. It’s a little rough, and Louis makes a little noise of surprise, pulling back, lips parted and slick - slick with Harry’s own spit. She’s panting heavily, and Harry has to kiss her, _has_ _to_ , fixing their mouths together. Their teeth clack, but it’s so _hot_ , and the moan Louis makes goes straight through Harry, replaying over and over in her head.

Louis slowly begins to grind against Harry, and Harry whines. Louis’ denim shorts create the most blissful friction against her own, her clit throbbing with arousal. She’s wet already, and she pulls back, all of it too much, too sudden, too hot.

“Louis,” Harry breathes, suddenly aware of her hands on Louis’ hips. When did they even get there? Traitors. “Louis, you don’t even like me. Are you drunk? I can’t - I can’t take advantage - “

What are they doing? Louis doesn’t even like her, and Harry can’t just - pin people against _walls_. She doesn’t do this. She can’t do this. She never just loses control like that.

“Shut up,” Louis orders, eyelashes fluttering. There’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead, and her eyes look almost black with lust in the dim light. “I like you enough to kiss you. And I’m not that drunk. Now take your top off.”

It startles a laugh out of Harry, and Louis freezes, then cracks up too, beautiful and irresistible in the dark of the room, pressed against a wall at a dumb party.

“Just give me this,” Louis begs, something Harry never thought she’d do, biting her bottom lip. Harry’s eyes track the movement, sharp, little teeth sinking into swollen lips. “Please, Harry. Just let me do this.”

“I don’t - “ Harry begins, but Louis presses her mouth to hers, swallows the words on her tongue. Harry’s grateful for it; she can’t be certain it would have been a refusal.

She pushes her onto the bed gently, and Harry sends a silent apology to whoever’s bed it is. What if it’s Luke’s? Ashton will kill her. Actually, Ashton’s more likely to record them, to be fair, but -

“Stop thinking,” Louis sighs, then sinks her teeth into Harry’s neck.

“Ow!” Harry hisses, but Louis just kisses the spot gently, then again, placing small butterfly kisses up and down Harry’s neck, until Harry is squirming. She’s going to have bruises tomorrow, and that makes her squirm even more, the idea of being marked, being claimed.

Louis pulls back, lifting her top off. Harry gazes at her, aware her mouth’s open, but not entirely in control of her motor functions enough to care. She carefully reaches a hand out, tracing the skin of Louis’ abdomen, soft and warm under her hand. Louis’ tanned and gorgeous, skin almost glowing in the dark, like some kind of teenage siren.

“What?” Louis says self-consciously, flushing, “I - “

"You’re so gorgeous,” Harry whispers. Louis flushes bright red, and something twists in Harry’s chest.

Louis leans down, slowly unbuttoning Harry’s shirt. “Can I?” she breathes, as if Harry’s going to say no, with a half naked Louis Tomlinson leaning over her.

She undoes Harry’s buttons painfully slowly, one by one, fingers deft as she gently tugs each button. “Hurry up,” Harry mumbles, and Louis’ eyes flash to hers, curiosity turning to amusement.

Harry shrugs out of her t-shirt, and Louis places one finger on Harry’s lower stomach, drawing a slow line up from her sternum to just below Harry’s bra. “This off too?” she asks quietly, and Harry bites her lip, before nodding.

“I’ll do it,” she mumbles, but then -- because this is her life -- she can’t reach the clasp, fingers slipping off it. Louis looks very much as if she’s trying not to laugh, so Harry stops to glare at her. “Shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Louis denies, straight faced, so Harry stops and whacks her with a spare pillow. Louis sputters indignantly, and Harry feels a bubble of hysterical laughter bloom in her chest. She is having sex with Louis Tomlinson. She is having sex with Louis Tomlinson.

Well. She is if she can get her fucking bra off.

She finally gets it off (she is never shopping at Primark again, their lingerie section should be burnt), and there’s a nagging feeling that she’s killed the mood, when Louis gasps softly.

She slowly cups Harry’s left breast with one hand, and Harry inhales, arching off the bed with the sudden contact. Louis rubs one thumb over the nipple slowly, before giving it a quick pinch, Harry writhing at the sensation. She shuffles down a little, before taking the nipple in her mouth, rolling it with her tongue, tugging it ever so slightly with her teeth, and Harry is so gone it’s not even possible.

“Let me do you,” she whines, breathless, and Louis pulls back, surprise flashing across her face. She must decide something, because she slowly pulls off her own bra, flopping down beside Harry. Her breasts are full, less tan than the rest of her skin, and her nipples are a perfect dusky pink.

Harry cups one like Louis did to her, circling the nipple, tickling the sensitive skin underneath. She keeps one hand splayed against Louis’ stomach as she does it, and Louis must like it because she presses more into Harry’s hand.

“I think,” Harry says quietly, leaning to press kisses to Louis’ neck, tugging on her ear gently and feeling her shiver. “I think that we should take our jeans off.”

Louis blinks, then laughs, pushing Harry away. Harry kind of wants to say she misses her hand on Louis’ boob, but that sounds stupid even in her own head, so she keeps her mouth shut. Louis begins to undo Harry’s jeans, fingers slim and brushing against Harry’s stomach.

“Your legs are too bloody long,” she mutters, seemingly unaware of how close she is to Harry’s crotch, though Harry doesn’t see how that is fucking possible. Harry’s certainly hyper aware of where it is. Harry finally kicks of her jeans, and Louis shucks her shorts, and then they’re both almost naked, staring at each other.

“Hi,” Harry says stupidly, suddenly overwhelmed, and Louis grins, leaning in to kiss her.

“Hey.”

“W - why are you doing this?” Harry stutters, and this is probably the entirely wrong time to have this conversation, when she’s literally about to get off, but the words tumble from her mouth, unbidden. “You don’t even like me.”

Louis’ face falls, and sits back on her haunches, mouth twisting. “Don’t ask.” She shakes her head. “Please, Harry. Just - let’s do this, okay? Let me do this for you.” She’s almost pleading, and Harry swallows.

She doesn’t know what this is. What they’re doing. She feels flushed and hot, dizzy with arousal, her underwear already slick, her makeup smudged, her jeans on the floor. All she knows is she wants this so, so much.

“Okay,” she agrees softly, and Louis’ eyes narrow in determination. Harry would tease her about Harry not being a football, when Louis gently leans down and kisses her thigh. She presses gently kisses to the insides of her thigh, stopping just as she gets to Harry’s underwear.

Harry can feel her there, Louis’ breath hot, and then Louis’s slowly pulling down Harry’s underwear, rolling it down until Harry kicks it off, impatient and jittery. She feels raw, exposed, but then Louis slowly begins to circle her clit, and she shivers.

Louis easily parts her folds, dragging one finger teasingly down her slit before circling her clit again, slowly and with precision, but just not enough pressure. Harry can feel herself getting even wetter, and she moans, bucking up into Louis’ hand.

“You’re wet,” Louis murmurs, and Harry bites out a “No shit” before Louis leans up to kiss her again, her free hand tangled in Harry’s hair. The kiss is wet and messy, Harry desperate, and Louis keeps her thumb on Harry’s clit the whole time, teasing her.

Ever so carefully, Louis slips a finger inside her, stroking gently, and Harry clenches down instinctively, head thumping back onto the pillow. She fulls impossibly full, a steady heat building in her stomach as Louis adds another finger slowly, fingers slick with Harry’s juices.

“Louis,” Harry gasps out, and Louis kisses her, leaning in so their breasts brush against each other’s. She keeps a steady rhythm with her fingers, crooking them in a way that knocks the breath out of Harry. She increases the pressure on her clit incrementally, and Harry groans.

She feels so full it’s ridiculous, and her clit is throbbing so hard now it hurts, Louis fingers moving quicker and quicker. “Come on,” Louis pants, and then she bites down on Harry’s collarbone, and Harry cries out, her orgasm crashing over her.

She clings to Louis as she comes, sweaty and shaky, pleasure rocking through her. Little mewls escape her mouth, and she shivers, catching Louis’ mouth in a frenzied kiss. Louis slides her fingers out carefully, and Harry closes her eyes for a second, thighs trembling. When she opens them, Louis’ sliding her hands into her own knickers, not even bothering to pull them down. Harry stares as Louis gets herself off quickly, whining as she comes, skin flushed. Her knickers are damp when she pulls her fingers out, wiping them on the sheets.

“That is so gross,” Harry blurts dumbly, because her brain is still full of candy floss. “I, Louis - “

Louis blinks back, eyelids heavy, chest heaving. She licks her lips, and suddenly Harry doesn’t know what to say, apart from, ‘That was the best orgasm of my life. Did you train or something?’ which is probably vaguely inappropriate.

“Harry,” Louis groans, voice hoarse, and then there’s a crash from the landing outside. Harry and Louis both jump, and then Louis’s suddenly moving, pushing herself off from the bed.

Harry’s frozen to spot as Louis pulls her bra on, finding her shorts and pulling them up so forcefully the denim scrapes her skin. She pushes back her hair, her face full of frantic panic.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, reaching for her own bra and knickers. She feels sick, her stomach twisting unpleasantly. This isn’t -- this doesn’t make sense.

“I have to go,” Louis says without looking at her, buttoning up her shirt.

Harry feels as though she’s been punched in the stomach.

“What?” she asks, her voice trembling, and Louis still won’t look at her, pulling a tie out of her pocket and arranging her hair into a messy bun. She pulls on her own jeans, feeling as though she should be doing something too, Louis’s manic energy setting her teeth on edge.

“I have to go,” Louis repeats, pulling on her VANS. Her feet are smaller than Harry’s. The thought hurts more than it should.

“I don’t understand,” Harry says thickly, and Louis’s eyes finally flick to hers. Her gaze looks shattered, broken, like everything has crumbled inside her. The punch becomes a knife wound, slicing her in half as she presses a redundant hand to the bleeding.

“This can never happen again. You can’t tell anyone. Don’t tell anyone, okay?” Louis orders, voice as hard as diamonds, then leaves. Just walks out the door and slams it shut, like she hasn’t left Harry’s heart in pieces on the pillow.

Harry feels as all her strings have been cut, and she sinks to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. She’s still in her bra.

Because Louis put on her shirt by mistake.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry doesn’t know how long she sits there for. Her legs feel sticky, and she might cry, just a little. Louis’ shirt is lying on the floor still, and she feels as though she should burn it or something ceremonious, but she honestly couldn’t care less. She just wants this grey, achey feeling to go away. It feels like there’s little slivers of glass in her lungs, slicing her flesh whenever she inhales, cutting her if she dares take a breath.

It hurts, it hurts _so much_ , and Harry feels tears pricking at her eyes, a stinging sensation, so she rubs them furiously. She reaches around for her phone, finding it under the bed. She must have dropped it when she, when they - well.

She’s so confused. Was she especially bad or something? Was she so awful that Louis had to make a break for it the moment she’d finished? Then again, she wouldn’t exactly go that far if she wasn’t into it.

She’s suddenly furious, hit by a wave of anger that consumes her. She clenches her fists tightly. The desire to destroy something smothers her, to scream, or hit something, throw something at the wall. She's livid. Who just screws people around like that? What did she think she was _doing_? They’re not even friends, and then Louis just jumps her, and makes her feel like that, and she doesn’t know what this means.

 _Just_ _let me_ _do_ _this_ , _Harry_. _Just_ _let me_ _do_ _this_.

She scrambles for her phone, her thumb hovering over Liam's number. She's hesitates, then thumbs in Nick's number. He picks up on the first ring, and Harry closes her eyes in thanks for small miracles.

"Hello? Harry? Are you okay?"

"Not really," Harry mumbles, and winces when a tear slips from her eye. "I'm at Luke's party. Can you come pick me up?"

"Are you okay?" Nick urges anxiously, and Harry can hear him grabbing his keys from down the phone. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"No, nothing like that." Just my fucking heart shredded into tiny pieces. "Can you just come get me?"

"Of course," Nick answers firmly, no hint of his usual sardonic humour. Harry's not sure if that makes her feel worse or better. "Do you want me to stay on the phone?"

"No, that's okay," Harry sniffles, and hangs up before she cries. She glances around the room; she's pretty sure it is Luke's - there's a couple of band posters up, and a school bag thrown in the corner.

A part of her realises she just had sex on someone else's bed, and she giggles for a moment, blinking through her tears. She may be hysterical. Fabulous. She stands up, heading over to Luke's drawers. Grabbing the nearest shirt, she pulls it on, not wanting to go down in Louis' shirt. She doesn't want it to touch her skin, not when after it’s touched Louis'.

All the same, she grabs Louis' shirt before she goes. She doesn't want to just leave it.

She feels as though everyone's looking at her as she goes downstairs, like she's somehow been branded a reject. They're not - everyone's way past plastered by now, God, she doesn't even know what the time is - but her skin still crawls.

She heads for the garden, figuring that's where Liam will be. It's cold outside, and she suddenly feels old, exhausted, all the way to her bones. Sanded right down to the edges. There’s an ashy taste in her mouth, everything half blurred, one watery smudge through her tears.

She passes the bins as she heads out onto the porch, and she opens the lid quickly, throwing away the shirt. She may as well be disposing of a body part, she looks that suspicious.

She doesn’t even feel guilty about dumping it in with the cat food tins and recycled loo rolls. If she’d wanted to keep her shirt, Harry thinks savagely, then maybe she should have stayed long enough to put the right one back on.

Liam's playing football in Luke's garden. Niall and Josh have joined in at some point, along with a couple of others. She's laughing, but she frowns when she sees Harry. It's enough to make Harry want to cry. Again. She really wants to stop crying.

"I'm going to get Nick to take me home," Harry mumbles, sloping over to her.

Liam frowns, taking in her appearance. "Are you okay?"

Harry gives her a watery smile. "Yep. Just tired."

Liam bites her lip, then grabs Harry's arm. Liam's no idiot, and she knows Harry well enough to know when she's really upset. "I'm coming too. One second."

They say their goodbyes, then Liam heads to the car. "It's Louis," Liam guesses, "isn't it?" At Harry's startled look, she wriggles her nose. "I saw her come down in your shirt, I don't - "

"We had sex," Harry admits dully, "and she ran off after. And said that she couldn't do this."

"Harry," Liam sighs, and pulls her into a hug. Harry clings to her, burrowing her face into Liam's hair. She holds her tight until there's the sound of a horn beeping, then she pulls back, sniffling.

Liam wraps an arm around her as they head to the car, opening the door for her. She feels a bit like the Queen, but she reckons she deserves a bit of coddling.

"Alright, Hazza?" Nick asks softly, twisting in his seat. He's got a beanie shoved over his hair, and he's wearing his glasses, which he says he bought to be ironic, but really does need or he’s pretty much blind. He's clearly just got out of bed. Harry checks the time on the dash; it's 11.45.

"I had sex with Louis.” Her tone is detached, emotionless. It doesn’t sound like her. "Then she walked out. Nick, how are you even friends with her?"

Nick swears softly under his breath, looking at her through his rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, Hazza, I didn’t think - “

“Didn’t think what?” Harry demands, her voice rising, “think what, Nick? That your secret best friend was going to hate me, then have sex with me, then leave me all by myself in Luke’s bed - “

“You did it in Luke’s bed?” Liam squeaks, eyes widening, “he’s going to kill you, Harry - “

“Where do you think we did it?” Harry retorts, momentarily side-tracked.

“I don’t know, in a bathroom or something,” Liam shrugs.

“Right, well next time I have illicit lesbian sex, I’ll be sure to pencil in the location,” Harry snaps, “but don’t worry, there won’t be another time, because she ran off. And said we could never do it again. Or tell anyone. Which is a pretty clear message, don’t you think?”

“Harry,” Nick begins, but Harry cuts him off.

“No, I don’t understand what’s going on,” Harry snarls, and her eyes are beginning to prickle again. “You can’t just mess people around like that, she’s barely talked to me this week, and now she’s - “ She cuts off, throat tight, unable to get the words out. Liam squeezes her hand, and Harry exhales, curling up in her seat. Maybe it she makes herself as small as possible, she can pretend it never happened.

She’s never been so humiliated in her life. She just slept with a girl who blatantly hates her, then was ditched straight after. She feels like an extra in a bad rom-com. The one the main character leaves, when they find a prettier, smarter, shinier version.

“I’m going to punch her in the face,” Liam announces, very, very calmly, and Harry smiles a little.

Nick rubs a hand over his face. “If I tell you something, you have got to promise not to tell anyone else, okay?”

Harry pulls her knees up onto her seat, resting her head on them. “Depends. Are you going to tell Liam not to punch Louis?”

Nick snorts. “No. I can’t deny it was a dick move.”

“Then carry on.”

“Look, you know how when I came out to my parents, they weren’t exactly ecstatic?” Nick starts, and Harry grimaces in sympathy. Nick’s mum was alright, but his dad was a different story. He’d been less than happy to have a gay son, especially as he seemed to think ‘homosexual’ was synonymous with ‘camp, hand-bag carrying, poufter.’

They’re much better now, but Harry can tell when Nick’s dad’s made a comment, because his jibes are always sharper, the barbs aimed to cut.

“Well, Louis stuck with me through the whole thing. We’ve been friends since primary, and we stayed friends through most of secondary, even though I was older. I used to go round and help baby sit.” Harry’s intrigued despite herself, leaning forward slightly in her seat.

“Anyway, you know Louis’ parents split when she was ten? Well, it was pretty much Louis and her mum until Jay remarried again. And Louis, as the eldest, had to prove herself, all the time. It was like now her dad had left, she had to show everyone it wasn’t because of her, that she hadn’t done anything wrong. That she wasn’t the problem, and she was perfectly fine without him. That she’s normal. It’s why she set up the girl’s football team, it’s why she never complained when she had to look after her little sisters.”

Nick lets a slow exhale. “She’s stubborn as hell, and she’d never admit to anything being wrong. Even now. Bear in mind this is all assumption and amateur psychoanalysis, but I think that’s why she doesn’t let anyone in. Because they might screw her over, and then she’ll have failed.”

They pause at a red light, the soft glow of the street light flooding the car. Nick’s face is half hidden in shadow, and Harry bites her lip, waiting for him to continue.

“But she was pretty much my best friend until Year 9, and I learnt to help her without her knowing, or her pretending not to know, and everything was great. And then,” Nick lets out a low whistle. “And then I walked in on her and Zayn.”

Harry sits bolt upright in her seat, just as Liam repeats incredulously, “Zayn? Zayn Malik?”

“Exactly,” Nick confirms flatly, clenching the steering wheel, “I didn’t even know she liked girls, but from what she was doing - well. It was more than like.” Harry tries to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach, the acidic curl of something that is definitely not jealousy.

“She completely freaked out, telling me she wasn’t gay. That she couldn’t be, because that would mean she’d messed up in some way. That she couldn’t get a boyfriend. That her dad had won, because she’d been put off boys forever.”

“You realise that’s bullshit?” Liam repeats incredulously, but inflection is softer than the words spoken. Harry swallows hard, linking her hands. It’s easy to picture a fourteen year old Louis, kissing a girl for the first time and liking it, with a smart mouth to hide how scared she was, four little sisters to look after and a chip on her shoulder the size of the Titanic.

“She was scared,” Nick whispers, and he looks miserable. “We stopped talking so much after that. She pulled away. I didn’t push it. So, I’m really sorry, Haz. I should have - “

“Warned me?” Harry says quietly, reaching forward and squeezing his shoulder. “About what? That your friend, who may be a lesbian, but is severely repressing it, may try and jump my bones, but then leave me after because of said repression. It’s not your fault. Besides, it’s not your secret to tell.”

Nick nods, reaching one hand up to squeeze Harry’s, before resting it back on the steering wheel. “It was still a crap thing to do, Harry. You should confront her - I’m not saying out her, but tell her that it’s not fair to mess people around. She shouldn’t drag you into it.”

“Okay,” Harry hums non-committedly. Her head’s spinning, overloaded with too many thoughts, too many emotions. She really just wants to go to bed.

Thankfully, Nick pulls up at her house soon after. He turns the key in the ignition, and the whole car shudders, turning off, and they sit in the silence for a moment. The lights are off in her house, and she digs around in her bag for her key.

“Thanks for picking me up,” Harry says quietly, and Nick blows a kiss at her, reaching behind him and squeezing her hand. “See you on Monday, Li.”

Liam makes a little clucking noise, and pulls her into a hug. She kisses her on the forehead - making Harry well up again, jesus, she is a wreck, - and squeezes her hands. “I’ll knock for you before school, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, then with a wave at the other two, she slides out of the car.

The house is quiet when she gets in, Anne and Robin already in bed. She slinks up the stairs quietly, not bothering to turn on her bedroom light. She jumps when something brushes against her ankles, but it’s only Dusty. She empties her bag, checking her phone, Three texts - Liam, Ashton and Nick respectively, all asking if she’s okay.

She heads straight for the bathroom. She strips quickly, turning on the shower so the water will warm up.

It feels like a punch in the stomach when she looks in the mirror. Her neck is covered in marks. As if it wasn’t enough for Louis to bruise her heart, she’s got to bruise her skin as well. Louis’ left her own permanent brands on Harry; Louis’ tattoos are physical, she’s inked Harry with love bites, the stickiness between her legs, the tear tracks on her cheeks.

She tries to be as clinical as possible, she really does, but she can’t. All she can think about is how Louis kissed, like it was all she’d ever wanted, how she’d giggled in the dark, the way she’d let Harry hold her like a lifeline as she came. As if it had been real. As if they’d been a couple.

Harry throws the shower gel out the shower was she sees a dark mark on her thigh, the shadow of Louis’ lips on her skin. It clatters to the floor, the sound ugly and harsh in the silence.

She calms down a little once she’s turned the water off. She brushes her teeth, focusing on mundane actions to keep her rooted. She pads down the hall to her bedroom, pulling on her softest pajamas and snuggling under the cover. Dusty’s still in there from earlier, and she sneaks under the covers like a cat ninja, butting her little furry head under Harry’s chin.

Harry’s mobile lies on the table by her bed, and she bites her lip before reaching for it. The room is a slide of monochrome, black and grey, and her eyes hurt when her phone screen lights up. She thumbs through her contacts until she finds the number she’s looking for.

It rings. And rings. And rings.

It goes to Gemma’s voicemail, and Harry cries herself to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

Harry’s had sex with a girl before.

More than one girl, if she’s being honest.

It had been Year 10, at a party thrown by Gemma. All Gemma’s friends had been round, their parents out, and Harry had been so happy Gemma had let her hang out downstairs. There had been strict instructions and mutilation threats, but she’d been allowed to stay.

Rita had a throaty laugh and blond curls, smiling at Harry and chatting about music for hours. They’d snogged while Gemma had been playing spin the bottle, Harry pressed against the counter, Rita’s hands dipping under her jeans.

They hadn’t dated, hadn’t defined it, but they went to the cinema a few times, giggling into each other’s necks. Rita held her hand in the park, even though Harry’s palm was sweaty, and kissed her lazily on her bed. Rita took Harry apart with her mouth, and made them cheese toasties after.

It wasn’t soul changing, but it was fun, and it was worth Gemma’s inevitable breakdown when she found out.

There’d been others, of course, because Harry is a teenage girl with a healthy, sexual appetite, not to mention hello, _dimples_. There was Jessica when she went on holiday, sun kissed skin in bikinis, rubbing in suncream with soft hands, and rubbing, um, other things.

There was Taylor, too, brash and American, visiting on her gap year, bouncing into the bakery with platinum curls. Taylor was a bit too high strung for her taste, and Harry felt clumsy around her, words heavy on her tongue, but she had tugged Harry’s hair when she’d gone down on her for the first time.

So yeah, Harry’s not an amateur. Is used to when girl’s tongues curl, how soft their skin is, how it feels to leave your mark on someone’s neck. She’s felt her back arch, orgasm blaze through her, that searing heat that makes your bones tremble, she’s done it all before.

Which doesn’t explain why she can’t erase Louis Tomlinson from her mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anne can tell something’s wrong with her, but because she is the greatest mother in the world, she doesn’t bring it up. She knocks on Harry’s door just as her alarm goes on, to tell her Babs called and said they don’t need her in the bakery that morning.

Apparently Babs’ cousin has come to visit or something, so they’re shutting early. Harry just nods blearily, before going back to sleep.

She brings Harry hot chocolate in bed when she wakes up, and then lets her watch _Frozen_ and _Tangled_. Harry thinks she might think Harry is hung-over, but she seems convinced otherwise when Harry puts _Let_ _It Go_ up as loud as possible. Only sober people could survive Idina Menzel’s high note.

Robin is nice to her too, in his own way. He asks her if she wants to go to do the weekly shop with him, then he buys her a reduced doughnut from the bakery counter. “Are you alright?” he asks her carefully on the way back from _Tesco_.

Harry stuffs a bit of doughnut in her mouth, then swallows too quickly and chokes. “I’m fine,” she spits, but her eyes are streaming, so it’s not very convincing. Robin is used to her by now, so he just hands her a tissue and waits patiently.

“Your mum says you’re missing Gemma,” he says quietly, and Harry stares resolutely out of the front window. “Do you - “

“How come you just accepted me being gay?” Harry bursts out, then clasps her hands over her mouth.

Robin shoots her a sideways look, before turning back to the road. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with falling in love with people. Look at me and your mum. We didn’t know we’d get together, did we? You don’t have any control over who you’re with” He taps his hands on the steering wheel. “Besides, in all fairness, it’s none of my business. As long as you’re happy, and safe, then I really have no say.”

Harry chews a bit of her hair. It’s a disgusting habit. Her mum always says she’s going to get hairballs. “Why do you think some people don’t think it’s like, normal? That it’s wrong.”

“Are we talking about a hypothetical person here?” Robin asks carefully, and Harry shrugs, then nods. “Then, I guess maybe because they didn’t know any different. Or they did know different, but they were scared of admitting it was alright.”

“I guess so,” Harry says slowly. Robin gives her a considering look, then hands her his doughnut. They don’t say anything else for the rest of the journey, but Harry gets out of the car feeling lighter than she did before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry almost asks Liam where the army camouflage is on Monday, she looks that determined. Liam looks as if she’s going to break into a lesbian threatening haka at any moment, to ward off any iniquitous women with designs on Harry.

Though the problem kind of was that they didn’t have designs on Harry. She’s still working on the no bitterness thing.

“Liam, you don’t need to look so savage,” Harry sighs, closing her gate. The latch sticks, so she kicks it extra hard, but only succeeds in scuffing her boots. “I’m sure no one’s about to jump out and whisk me away to Luke’s bedroom, only to have their wicked way with me and leave me ravished.”

“You never know,” Liam jokes, but her eyes look more hopeful, “your sarcasm’s back I see. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Harry lies breezily. A little too breezily it seems, because Liam narrows her eyes at her. Maybe a little less breeze. “Okay, I still feel vaguely murderous, but Nick was right. It was a dick move. I was stupid to think it meant anything. I get it.”

Liam considers this, then questions, “You sure you don’t want me to punch her?” in an eager tone, and Harry laughs.

“Tempting but no,” Harry declines, face hardening a little. “Wouldn’t want to maim our captain, would we?”

Liam pales, eyes widening. “Shit, I forgot about that. Do you want to quit the team? It’s not like we’ve been to loads of practises.”

“No, then we’d have to explain why,” Harry points out, “and that would just be awkward. Besides, I might get the opportunity to kick the ball at Louis’ boobs.”

“True,” Liam concedes, hiking up her rusack rather up on her back. It has _Marvel_ superheroes on it. “Or like, trip her over or something.”

“I’d probably take myself down with her,” Harry says wistfully, “like last time.”

“We’ll have to work on the maiming plans,” Liam decides, and she sounds so thoughtful Harry laughs, properly laughs this time. Liam looks so proud that her eyes crinkle up at the corners, face splitting into a grin.

“What about you?” Harry asks as they near the school gates. She’s starting to feel apprehensive, butterflies dancing in her stomach. She tries to force them down, but her palmsare beginning to sweat. “Did you have a good time with Zayn?”

She wiggles her eyebrows at Liam, but Liam just looks surprised at Harry’s suggestive tone. “Um, yeah. We played football?” She phrases the last bit as a query, nonplussed.

“I think she likes you,” Harry says in a conspiratorial whisper. She’s not sure why, there’s no one in hearing distance. She just likes feeling secretive. Like a spy.

“Um, okay,” Liam agrees, only she doesn’t whisper so it ruins the effect. “I’m sure she likes you too.”

“No, as in fancies you,” Harry rephrases, because Liam is so dense sometimes.

“Okay,” Liam repeats, clearly bewildered, then, “really?”

Liam is so thick it’s unbelievable. “Yes,” Harry says slowly, as if she’s talking to a toddler, “Jade said something about it, didn’t she? And she asked if you were single. And she watches you sometimes.”

“Right.” Liam doesn’t sound particularly convinced. “If you say so. I don’t know why she’d like me, though.”

“Because you’re gorgeous,” Harry frowns, “and funny, and your eyes do that cute crinkly thing, like a pug dog. And you both like superheroes.”

“She likes me because I look like a pug dog,” Liam repeats, and Harry scowls. “Is that really what you got out of that?”

“Well, we’ll see,” Liam shrugs as the bell goes, “besides, she’s Louis’ best friend. Would that be okay?”

“Well it’s not Romeo and Juliet,” Harry blinks, “I’m not going to disown you for going out with a Malik.”

“Yeah, but principles and that,” Liam says earnestly, and Harry gives her an impromptu hug.

“Principles and that,” Harry repeats softly, “yeah, that’s something.”

She goes to form with a smile on her face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry realises halfway through lunch she has football practise after school. It’s less like she realises, and more like Jade skips over and tells them practise has been changed because of Zayn’s art show, and wasn’t vodka ball so much fun?

Harry chokes on her sandwich, spends five minutes trying to breathe, and once she can breathe, tries to start choking again, so she can have foreign object airway obstruction as a legitimate excuse to get out of practise.

Unfortunately, she’s still pissed (and hurt and desperate and wounded) enough that she doesn’t want to look like a coward, and if she doesn’t go there’s a chance Louis might come to her, which would be ten times worse. At least in this case Harry can look as though she chose to be there. It doesn’t stop her trying, though.

Liam pats her shoulder when Harry slams her locker door extra violently at the end of the day. “Oh look, I’ve cramped my hand,” Harry proclaims brightly, “guess I can’t go to practise.”

“It’s football, Harry. You use your feet.”

“The cramp has travelled from my hand to my foot,” Harry declares flatly, “ouch.”

“Harry,” Liam says, “if you don’t want to go, we won’t go. But I know you well enough that if we don’t go, you will spend all evening moaning that you should have gone, and listing all the witty comebacks you would have said.”

“I’m good at witty comebacks,” Harry mumbles, “just three hours after the actual event.”

“Come on,” Liam sighs, linking her arms with Harry’s. It looks nice. It’s really a sneaky way of pulling Harry down the corridor. “The quicker we get there, the quicker it’s over.”

“The later we get there, the quicker it’s over,” Harry corrects, but Liam justs huffs and tugs her harder.

By some small miracle, they’re the last ones in the changing room. Harry tries to get changed as slowly as possible, but when she’s tied her shoes for the fifth time, Liam has to put her foot down.

Harry’s palms begin to sweat as they head out, and she wipes them nervously on her shorts. Great. Because sweat’s so attractive. Not that she cares about Louis thinking she’s attractive, because she obviously can’t think Harry’s that much of a looker, after she left her high and dry.

Or high and wet. As it were.

Shut the fuck up, brain.

Like last practise, Zayn and Louis aren't on the pitch yet, and Harry can’t help but wonder if they get changed together. Harry twists uncomfortably at the idea of Louis and Zayn both stripping off, underdressed, alone together. Wonders if that’s all they do, if Nick’s words had more weight than she realises.

Not that she cares, Harry thinks, and mentally kicks herself. She would physically kick herself, but that’d look a bit weird to the rest of her team mates.

“Hey,” Niall greets brightly, bouncing up to them, “you alright, Styles?” Harry freezes for a moment, wondering what Niall will say next, but Niall carries on regardless. “You left so early on Saturday, I thought you were sick or something. I didn’t get home ‘till three, and I can’t remember half of it.”

“I had an early shift at work,” Harry says swiftly, and it’s only half a lie which she’s grateful for. Lying to Niall is like pushing a baby out of a pram. It’s like lying to _Liam_.

“Fair enough,” Niall shrugs, leaning forward to touch her toes, then straightening up and stretching her quads. She bounces back up suddenly, grabbing Harry’s arm. “Oh God, did you hear about Luke?”

“Er, no,” Harry replies nervously. Behind Niall, Liam gives her a very pointed look.

“Someone had sex in his bed,” Niall divulges gleefully, and Liam face palms behind Niall. Harry tries very, very hard to stay still.

“Really?” Harry keeps her voice carefully interested, “does he know who?”

“Nope,” Niall grins, “only that his sheets were sticky. Luke went absolutely mental. But between you and me, everyone thinks it was George Shelley and his girlfriend.”

George Shelley wears cat jumpers and braces. He once covered for Harry in form, by telling Miss Limb she’d been in a bike accident, when really Harry was stopping at _McDonalds_ to get a breakfast wrap.

“You know what, Niall,” Harry says slowly, “now that you say it, I definitely saw George on the upstairs landing.”

Liam’s mouth falls open.

Niall gasps. “Really?”

“Er, yeah,” Harry assures her, glancing behind her, “I’ve always been told I’ve got, er, good eyes, and my eyes were not deceiving me that night. That was definitely George.”

“I knew it,” Niall says with relish, “are you serious?”

Harry winces. “As the grave.”

“Wait until I tell Jade,” Niall squeals delightedly, then skips off to do just that. Harry bites her lip, then turns to look at Liam.

“You’re a horrible person,” Liam tells her, and Harry’s shoulders slump.

“I know,” she says mournfully.

“At least blame it on someone we don't like next time," Liam continues, and Harry bursts out laughing, clasping her hands over her mouth when some of their team members give them funny looks.

Liam smirks at her, and Harry’s just thinking that maybe this practise won’t be so bad, which is naturally when Zayn and Louis show up.

When she looks back on it, Harry will realise it would have been much less painful if Louis had acknowledged her. More awkward, yes, but it would have been a confirmation. A confession that something had happened that night, an admission that Louis had made her come so hard her entire body had felt like jelly, that they did more than touched lips on those sheets..

Because Louis doesn’t acknowledge her at all. Not even a glance in her direction, her eyes sliding over Harry as if she’s not even there. Harry has to resist the urge to check she’s not invisible, that her hands aren’t translucent.

They get split up to do drills again, then some five on five, and Harry is never paired with or on Louis’ team. She’s paired with Niall instead, which is a blessing in disguise. Niall must just think Harry’s really quiet, or maybe she’s just observant, but she doesn’t try and push Harry into conversation.

It’s almost worse to not be on Louis’ team, because it’s excruciatingly frustrating. Harry can’t look at her without being bombarded with a plethora of memories; Louis wraps her hands around the ball for a free kick, and Harry remembers her cupping her breast with the same deft fingers. Louis’ calf muscles flex as she runs, and Harry remembers tan skin in dim light. Louis licks her lips, and Harry remembers vodka and lipgloss, wonders if they would taste salty from sweat if she kissed Louis now.

By the end of practise, Harry is a mess of sexual frustration and bitter resentment, and she misses every shot Niall sends her way. Eventually, Niall asks her if she’s on crack.

It’s probably also why she kicks the sack of footballs over just as their hour’s up. If this was a romantic comedy, the net the balls are in would snap in the wind, but this is not a romantic comedy, and Harry is tired of waiting for things to happen.

Louis sighs and goes to retrieve the balls, which gives Harry just enough time to slip into the changing rooms to wait for her. Hopefully, Louis will just think she’s gone home.

Liam gives her a funny look when she sits down onto the bench, pulling off her shin pads. “Did you knock all those balls over on purpose?”

“Yes.”

Liam whistles under her breath. “Jesus, what did Tomlinson do to you?” she asks in a shocked tone. “Are you going to talk to her now?”

“Yep,” Harry states firmly, a complete contrast to the adrenaline pumping through her, “I’m not going to fight her, Liam, don’t look so worried. I just want to talk to her. She completely blanked me all practise for one.”

“Well, you might have an audience,” Liam says grimly, and she nods her head over to where Zayn is brushing her hair, “I think Zayn normally walks home with Louis.”

“Crap,” Harry swears, chewing on her thumbnail. She’s not having this conversation with Zayn around. “Wait, Liam, she likes you. Go convince her to walk home with you.”

Liam looks at her dubiously. “You want me to distract Zayn?” When Harry nods, Liam snorts. “You realise that’s basically prostitution.”

“Well, I’m sure Zayn would be happy to accept any sexual acts you offer,” Harry hisses. Louis’ going to be back any second, and most of the other girls are leaving, waving to them as they head out the door.

“You’re a dick,” Liam says flatly, but she’s obliging enough, getting up and heading over to Zayn. Harry’s not sure what she says - probably offers to cosplay Wonder Woman with her - but before long Liam’s waving goodbye, her and Zayn heading for the door.

Harry slumps further against the wall, leaning her head back. It’s quiet now everyone’s gone, the ghost of their laughter echoing in her ears. The changing room is large enough, with sturdy benches and pegs, another room for showers. Harry swings her legs absent mindedly, waiting for Louis to slip in. She feels as though she should practise what she should say, but her mind’s gone blank.

Louis looks as though she’s seen a ghost when she finally comes in. The ghost of a girl she killed through orgasms. Harry’s not sure you get ghosts like that.

“What are you doing here?” Louis says finally, throwing the bag of balls down in the cupboard. She walks over to her own peg, back to Harry, pulls her own bag open so fiercely Harry’s sure she’s going to break it.

“I wanted to talk,” Harry begins, then realises how lame that sounds. “About Luke’s party,” Harry continues louder, and is rewarded by Louis’ shoulders stiffening. “Are we going with denial here, or just going to fake ignorance?”

Harry feels irritation prickle under her skin as Louis keeps sorting through her bag, ponytail swaying to the side as she keeps her back to her. “Look, I’m not trying to make you come out or something, I’m not that much of a bitch. I just think you owe me an explanation.” Harry bites her lip. “And an apology, could you turn around please?”

Harry’s not sure if Louis’ ignoring her or just not listening, but either way she still doesn’t turn around. Harry feels the irritation flare up, slide from annoyance to anger, a candle’s flicker to a full blown forest fire.

“Okay, I’ll talk,” Harry snaps, balling her hands into her fists. “Let’s have a conversation where you don’t say anything, which you seem to be practising if today is anything to go by. Let’s talk about the fact you left me, _alone_ , on Luke’s bed, still - still covered in _slick_ \- “

Her voice cracks on the last word, splits in the middle like a snapped branch, but she soldiers on. She just has to channel all the anger and resentment, thumping in her chest, and the words rush to come out.

“You left me,” Harry snarls, and it doesn’t sound like her, but Harry tends to let her emotions tug her where they want to go. “You left me with no explanation, no reason, nothing, and that was a fucking _shit_ thing to do, okay? You don’t even like me, I don’t - “

Louis has turned around, but her eyes are fixed on the floor. Harry can see the way her hands are shaking, her shoulders hunched, back a sharp, stiff line.

“You know what, fuck you,” Harry says flatly. She feels drained and dry, as exhausted as if she’d had a physical fight with Louis. It’s not worth it, she realises bitterly, and spits out the last thing she has to say. “Do whatever the fuck you want. You’re clearly not worth it.”

She can’t resist one last parting shot. “Oh, and you might want to perfect your acting skills. The team’s going to notice if you can’t bear to be near me.”

She begins to leave, but then someone grabs her wrist and pulls her back. Harry off-pitch has the coordination of a giraffe on stilts, so she stumbles forwards, only to reel backwards when Louis pushes her against the wall.

“Hey!” Harry cries out, back hitting the wall with a painful thump. Louis leans forward, bracing her two palms against the wall. She has to lean up on her tiptoes a bit, little strands of hair curling round her face, coming loose from her ponytail.

“Why do you even care?” Louis snaps. Her face is contorted in anger, eyes a steely blue. Harry’s never seen her so angry, she’s vibrating with it. “You don’t even like football.”

“Oh yeah, because that’s what this is really about,” Harry retorts, “besides, we play for the same team, don’t we?”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Louis asks flatly, and Harry congratulates herself on the unintended innuendo.

“I thought it was,” Harry says honestly, “you know you don’t have to be ashamed of who you are - “

“I didn’t ask for a fucking self-help book,” Louis growls, leaning in even closer, “I don’t need a counsellor, I don’t even - “

“Even what?” Harry cuts in, hands balling into fists, “like me? Like girls?” Her mind flashes back to Saturday night, and she steps forward, until she’s chest to chest with Louis. “That you like leaving bruises for everyone to see? That you tilt your head and tug my hair when you kiss?” Harry takes another step forward; Louis’ gone completely silent. Harry’s heart is racing.

“That you like it when I’m _wet_ for you?” Harry finishes, and the last part is barely a whisper.

Louis’ cheeks are stained red, her eyes glassy. She’s trembling, Harry notes dispassionately. She opens her mouth, searching for the syllables to construct into an apology, an excuse, Harry doesn’t know, then shuts her mouth with a snap.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers finally.

“Not good enough,” Harry says bluntly, and leaves without looking back.

 

 

 

 

 

She doesn’t go to football practise the next week. Liam keeps shooting her these worried looks, little glances dripping in concern, but Harry just ignores her. Liam knows her well enough not to ask, and after a bit she stops acting like Harry’s got a terminal disease, and goes back to nagging her about boring stuff.

Harry feels strangely vindicated, which is weird, but she also has this warm thrum singing under her skin. She doesn’t think she’s ever been so angry, well, ever. Possibly not since she babysitted, and the kids cut up her favourite scarf to make a ‘dress for Barbie.’

She’s glad she stood up for herself, because you can’t jerk people around like that. You can’t, and yes, Harry went with it, but she wasn’t the one who instigated it, and she wasn’t the one who was left, and that’s not fair. Not without an explanation. Not without any reasoning at all.

It’s awkward, because it was going to be, but Harry just ignores Louis when she walks past her in the corridors, and doesn’t look to see if Louis’ doing the same. She’s still angry, the underlying simmer, but it’s muted, dulled. She’s said what she wanted to, needed to. There’s nothing else to do, not really.

“What did you do to Louis?” Ashton hisses to her in class. He’s sneaking glancing at Louis, totally conspicuously, so Harry keeps elbowing him the ribs. “She’s like one of those little imprinted ducklings.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, she keeps staring at you,” Ashton insists, doing another obvious lookover. “Like when mother ducks reject their young, and the baby ducks just follow them around until they die in the wilderness.”

“I didn’t reject her,” Harry disagrees calmly, “she rejected me. And she’s not a duckling. And she’s not looking over here. You are basically a massive liar.”

Ashton knows what happened, mainly because he put two and two together, Luke’s bed, Louis in Harry’s shirt, Harry being uncharacteristically silent on Monday morning. Ashton is not an idiot, but he’s also tenacious to a fault, which can be a good or bad thing depending.

Harry gets a blissful five seconds of silence, then Ashton says, “ _Haz_.”

Harry groans. “What?”

“Why did you sleep with her?” Ashton asks quietly, brown eyes intent on Harry’s face, “I mean, she was awful to you, but why - why did you go with her?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replies miserably, because she doesn’t. It’s the same question that’s been playing in her mind since that night. She was drunk, sure, but she wasn’t incapable. “I was drunk, and she was, well, hot, and I just - “

She shrugs, trailing off. “I know I don’t like her, but - it was good.” She clears her throat. “It was really good sex. Which doesn’t excuse what she did, but, um. I don’t know.”

Ashton sighs, slinging an arm around Harry. He pulls her tight, tugging on one of her curls. “Okay, I’ll let it go - don’t make a _Frozen_ joke, I see you, Styles.”

Harry pouts. People should stop doubting her puns, she is hilarious.

“Because you clearly have,” Ashton continues. His eyes flick to the front of the class warily, clouded with an emotion Harry can’t decipher. His voice is low when he finishes his sentence. “I just don’t know if Louis will.”

Harry goes back to her work, shaking her head. Ashton’s last words keep replaying in her mind, She bites her lip, jiggles her knee up and down, before she gives in. She glances over to the front, only to find Louis is actually looking at her, oops. She’ll say sorry to Ashton later.

Louis meets her gaze. She’s chewing on her bottom lip, but Harry doesn’t let her eyes fall to where it’s wet and red. She flinches when Harry looks back, an involuntary movement, but she doesn’t look away. Her eyes are very, very blue, red rimmed and hollow.

Harry looks away. She feels on edge for the rest of the lesson.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She finally gets to talk to Gemma that night, smacking the answer button hard when her name flashes up on Harry’s phone screen.

“Gems?”

“Haz? It’s like taking a sip of hot chocolate, Gemma’s voice settling all Harry’s jangled nerves, soothing away all the stress of the past week.

Harry sighs happily, settling back into her pillows. “I’ve been calling you for ages.”

“I’ve been busy,” Gemma says, and Harry exhales at the cheerful note of her voice. “Mainly being drunk at 3am, then throwing up impressively at 4am, then crawling to lectures at 8.”

“What a glamourous life,” Harry snorts, even though a tiny bit of her is jealous. She plays with the covers of her duvet, fingers trailing across the pattern. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, H,” Gemma admits softly, and Harry thinks of pillow fights and walking to school, holding Gemma’s hand and singing in the car. “Mum said something about football? Are you on the team? What’s up, by the way, you’ve normally told me ten facts about cantaloupes by now.”

“Cantaloupe is an excellent source of folic acid,” Harry sniffs, just to be pedantic. “And it’s nothing. Well, it is, sort of. I’m not sure - “

“Is it a girl?” Gemma asks bluntly, then cackles in Harry’s resulting silence. “Give her a packet of sweethearts, works on every level.”

“Gemma,” Harry whines, “that’s not it. It’s - “

She’s not quite sure how much to tell Gemma. She’s her sister, yes, but there’s also something called _personal_ _information_. Harry doesn’t excel at this, but she’s canny enough to know she doesn’t want to be outlying the most recent details of her sex life to her sister.

“There was a girl,” Harry begins slowly, ignoring Gemma’s teasing about her storytelling skills. “And we, um. Kissed.”

“Just kissed?” Gemma questions sharply. Harry blanches.

“Just kissed.” And got naked, and she fingered me, and I came ridiculously hard, and actually, it was more like snogging against a door, but what’s some semantics between sisters. “And, er. Then she sort of, left me. After. And I shouted at her.”

“The kitten has claws,” Gemma whoops, and Harry just rolls her eyes. “What do you mean she left you? Where did she _go_?”

It makes a giggle burst from Harry’s lips, a nice reaction compared to the negative ones that seem more common these days. “I don’t know where she _went_ , she just ditched me.”

She sounds more plantative by the end of it, and Gemma much catch it because she clucks her tongue sympathetically. “Haz. I’m glad you shouted at her. Do you need me to come down and do some arse kicking?”

“No, that’s okay.” It probably wouldn’t do any good, Harry would feel too guilty. She doesn’t want Louis to get beaten up, she just wants to forget it happened. “I think I’ve pretty much guaranteed she’ll never talk to me again.”

“Do you want her to talk to you?” Gemma asks cryptically, but then there’s the sound of female laughter, the clink of bottles. “Sorry, H, the girls are here. I’ve got to go. Text me okay?”

“Okay,” Harry says hurriedly, “I - “ The dialing tone beeps, and Harry scowls at it until it stops.

Of course she doesn’t want to talk to Louis, what’s Gemma on about?

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hi, Harry.”

Louis Tomlinson is standing by her locker. Harry may possibly be tripping.

Harry stares for a little bit, only Liam elbows her and mutters, “Frog face,” so she stops. “Um, hey.”

Louis looks as though she’s a second away from peeing herself, which is strangely gratifying. Harry is probably just a horrible person, but she just sits back and basks in Louis’ terrified gaze.

“Could I - ” Louis swallows, and Harry watches the tan line of her neck before she can help herself. “Can I talk to you? Um, alone?”

Liam crosses her arm beside her, and for once Harry is grateful her friend is doing such an accurate impersonation of a German Shepard. “We’ve got to get to form, I don’t want to be late.”

“Yeah,” Harry response is slower, because it’s putting her off kilter, Louis standing there looking so nervous. Her eyes look almost grey this morning, like cool slate, and her eyelashes keep fluttering when she blinks anxiously. “I have to go, sorry - “

“Please,” Louis pleads, and she sounds so desperate, nothing like the confident captain that barks orders on the football field. “Please, Harry.”

It would be easy for Harry to say no, and probably a lot smarter, but Harry’s wisdom seems to crumble under Louis’ discouraged pout. In all fairness, Louis’ lips are very distracting, plump and candy red, and no. Bad Harry. Avoid lesbians in denial.

“It’ll be really quick, I promise,” Louis begs. Liam stiffens, and Louis gives her an exasperated look. “At ease, Payne, I’m not going to - “

“Hurt me?” Harry cuts in coldly, and Louis’ face crumples. “Because that’s what happened last time.”

“Just please,” Louis implores. She glances down at her shoes, tiny feet in beat up vans. Harry feels something give in her chest.

“Okay,” she allows finally, ignoring Liam’s alarmed stare. “Five minutes.”

Louis bounces on her feet, trembling stillness transformed into buzzing, nervous energy in a second. Her eyes have gone hard, determined, such a quick contrast it makes Harry’s head spin.

Harry follows Louis awkwardly to an empty classroom, tugging the door shut. She feels like she’s in an episode of _90210_ , except she’s not that rich, and her heart’s beating so fast she can feel it in her ears.

Louis leans back against one of the tables, hands flat against the desk. She’s wearing a long sleeved shirt with a rainbow, which Harry personally finds ironic, and skinny, blue jeans rolled up at the ankle, Her head is down for once, Harry’s used to the messy ponytail, but it’s soft and fluffy around her shoulders, a lighter brown than Harry’s own.

“I’ve been a bitch,” Louis blurts. She looks small, but she’s holding her chin up, tiny but defiant. “A proper, no take backs bitch. I’m really, really sorry, Harry, I swear.”

Louis bites her lip, and Harry’s eyes drop to her lips subconsciously. Louis’ pale, her eyes wide and very, very blue. Harry feels like all her emotions are battering around inside her like a hurricane, so she rubs her hands over her eyes.

“I don’t get you,” she whines, voice muffled through her hands, “You don’t even know me. You hate me, or dislike me an extreme amount. And then - last Saturday - you just kept saying ‘let me have this.’ Like I was something you actually wanted. Like I was worth it. I don’t _understand_ you.”

“Harry,” Louis keens, and then she’s tugging Harry’s hands away from her face. Her hands are warm, and small, and Louis doesn’t look like she knows what to do with Harry’s hands now she’s got them. Louis flushes, then links their fingers quickly, like if she does it quickly it’ll be like she hasn’t done it at all.

“You’re right,” Louis says shakily, “it was a - it was cruel to just leave you like that. I didn’t - I didn’t mean to use you or anything.” She looks off into the distance, shaking her head. “I swear, I’m not usually this much of a bitch.”

Harry coughs, uncomfortable with how miserable Louis looks. “You’re not a bitch - “

“Oh, I am,” Louis interrupts, squeezing Harry’s hands for emphasis. It must be an unconscious action, because Louis starts when she looks down, dropping Harry’s hands like hot coals. “I - it’s not fair to mess people around like that. Sorry.”

“You’re not out,” Harry says softly, and it’s not quite a question but it’s not a judgment either.

Louis runs her tongue along her lips, refusing to meet Harry’s eyes. “Nope. And we’re not talking about that,” she bites out, then winces. “Sorry. It’s less I’m not out and more - whatever. Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. Sorry.”

“You apologise a lot,” Harry notes, and Louis snorts. “Only to you. I don’t think I’ve apologised to Zayn in my life.”

“Why did you do it?” Harry asks, voice hushed in the empty room. She shuffles her feet awkwardly, rubbing one leg with the back of her heel. “Were you really that drunk?”

Louis ducks her head, shuts her eyes briefly. “Yeah, I was. And you were there, and I just - we had that tension between us.”

She trails off, looking incredibly awkward. Harry gets it a little though, that mix of emotions Harry always seems to feel around Louis, the blend of anxiousness, anticipation, apprehension. It just sets her on edge, makes her want to strive for something she can’t clarify.

“Okay.” Harry draws out the word, tests it., “You realise that's completely not okay? You can't just - mess with people's feelings like that. It's not fair. Not to me."

“I know," Louis nods, and she sounds utterly miserable, "I know, and I'm so, so sorry. I am."

Harry takes a breath. "Okay."

She feels so conflicted, like there's a hurricane inside her. On one hand, what Louis did was - horrible. So horrible. But on the other hand - she apologised. And she also looks like she's going to cry. Harry hates it when people cry. Harry’s been angry, been resentful, been furious, but anger is tiring, steals your strength, saps your energy. Harry wants the buzzing, heavy feeling in her chest to just go.

"Okay," she repeats, "I accept your apology."

Louis looks startled, a wash of emotions flicking over her face, starting with astonishment and ending with something akin to hope.

“So.” She clears her throat, shuffling her feet. “Truce?”

“Truce?” Harry repeats, then catches on. “Oh. Yeah.”

Louis sighs. “We’re not very good at this, are we?”

“You started it!” Harry says defensively, and Louis laughs, sweet little sounds Harry never thought she would hear.

“Okay, so I’ll be nicer,” Louis promises, nodding her head, and so does Harry. They stand there awkwardly for a few more minutes, until the door swings open with a slam. Harry jumps so hard her hand hits the desk, finger catching the edge painfully.

“What are you doing?” Niall asks cheerfully, hanging off the doorframe. Her eyes widen when she sees Louis and Harry. “Hey, Tommo, did you finally - “

“Shut up, Niall,” Louis snaps, voice not quite hysterical but getting there.

Niall pouts at her. “Yeah, but I thought - “

“Niall, fuck off,” Louis hisses. She looks so irate Harry giggles, like a kitten with all its fur puffed up. Harry forgets how much her finger hurts for a second, but then it twinges painfully. Harry sucks it into her mouth, humming thoughtfully.

She looks up when she realises Louis’ looking at her, red rising in the apples of her cheeks. Harry pulls her finger out of her mouth with a pop, flushing. “Er, banged my finger.”

Louis buries her head in her hands. Niall cackles.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry’s going to be sick.

Niall, who’s eating a packet of Quavers, stops and stares at her. “Are you going to be sick?” she asks cheerfully, blond fringe held back by little blue clips. Her hair is pulled into a little ponytail. Harry fucking hates it. “Because you look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Shut up,” Harry says tightly, teeth clenched.

Jade, who’s heading to the mirrors to adjust her makeup, stops and cocks her head to one side. “Yeah, you look like you’re going to vomit.”

“So I’ve heard,” Harry snaps, scrunching her eyes shut. The sudden darkness is almost soothing.

There’s the patter of footsteps, then someone sits beside Harry, the bench dipping slightly under the sudden weight. A cool hand touches her thigh, and Harry shudders. “Are you okay?” Liam asks, worried, “you look like - “

“I’m going to be sick!” Harry explodes, opening her eyes and smacking her hand on the bench. “Yes, I know, I’ve already been told three times! I’m just nervous, okay? This is our first game, the first time I’ve played, and - “

She stops, struggling to breathe. Liam slings an arm around her, and Harry focuses on exhaling, trying to remove the crushing weight on her chest by brute will alone. She has asthma, yes, but this is another version of cutting off your oxygen, crippling nerves that might as well be a medical condition, only one with no remedy in a handy little container.

Harry’s not even sure why she’s nervous, she’s just always been like this. She remembers being a little girl, aged five, and supposed to play Mary in the Nativity play. Harry had been so scared she’d thrown up all over the angel Gabriel.

When she’d gotten on the stage, she’d birthed the baby Jesus without a hitch, it’s just the pre-performance that always shakes her up. Her chest feels as though it’s full of lead, the insurmountable pressure that won’t let up, squeezing her ribs until she feels as though she’s drowning, drowning in anxiety and second thoughts and hesitancy.

“Harry,” Liam soothes quietly, shaking her shoulder, “Harry, come on. Breath in. Breath out.”

Liam begins to rub calming circle on her back, her palm warm and comforting. It helps a lot. Liam’s the only one who’s ever seen Harry have an asthma attack, and she’s always so cautious with her ever since.

Harry listens to Liam’s quiet directions, before her chest starts to loosen a little, giving just an inch. She takes one final breath, then looks up, brushing her hair out of her face. “Thanks,” she murmurs weakly to Liam, shivers going down her arms as her body relaxes.

“Anytime, Haz.” Liam gives her an extra big squeeze. “You want me to do your hair for you?”

Harry’s about to answer when Louis wanders down to their end of the changing room. She’d been talking to Jesy when Harry had come in, helping her stretch out because Jesy’s ankle had been playing up a couple of weeks earlier.

She immediately spots Harry, and Harry wonders what she must look like. Pink rimmed eyes, ashen-faced, hair hanging around her face in tangles. Harry ducks her head, embarrassed.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, concerned, so Harry’s attempts to blend into the wall obviously didn’t work.

“Yeah, I just get nervous,” Harry mumbles, hoping Louis will just leave her alone, but clearly nothing’s on her side today, because she just sits down next her, swivelling so she’s straddling the bench.

“What’s going on?” Louis coos, her face very, very close to Harry’s. Her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, dark blue band keeping her fringe back. She’s wearing her captain band, black around her arm, and Harry fixates on that, where the tan skin is swallowed up by the dark material.

“Hey,” Louis calls, and she reaches out and puts her hand on Harry’s thigh.

Harry’s only in her shorts, and Louis’ hand feels like a brand. She imagines Louis trailing her fingers up the soft inner skin of Harry’s leg, tightening her hand on Harry’s thigh, nails digging in.

It’s still that tiniest bit awkward between them. Louis will nod to Harry in the corridors, and Harry will walk with her to psychology, but they don’t talk. They’re just past civil, but they don’t go out of their way to discuss last night’s episode of _Hollyoaks_.

It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable. Harry will be reliving Louis apologising to her, and the next moment she’ll be remembering what Louis’ lips look like bruised, red and split slick from Harry kissing her.

Before they had sex. Can’t forget that. (She really can’t.) (That’s kind of the problem here.)

“You’ll be fine,” Louis continues, and moves her hand away. Harry’s not sure whether she’s relieved or disappointed. “It’s not a massive one, it’s only the beginning. We lose this one, then we just have to win the next one with a greater score to qualify for the next round. Or we just draw this one. I’m not putting you on centre forward yet, Zayn’s up with me. You’ll be centre midfield, and then we’ll see how it goes.”

“Okay.” Harry begins to drum her nails on the bench, and Louis sighs. She reaches out and tucks one of Harry’s curls away, fingers grazing the sensitive skin of Harry’s ear.

“I’ll pull you off if you really suck,” Louis utters flatly, and it startles a giggle out of Harry. “There you go, you didn’t kill yourself laughing. Seriously, what’s the worst scenario you come up with?”

Harry has an imaginative plethora of things that could go wrong. There is a never ending list of failure when Harry gets herself worked up. That’s not even a question, that’s an invitation for Harry’s insecurities to take the stage.

“I could miss the ball, I could get hit by the ball, I could hit someone else with the ball. I could score an own goal, I could let a goal -- and I’m not even goalie -- “

“Harry,” Louis cuts in, “do you really think you’re that shit at football that you’re going to score an own goal? You do realise you’d have to be facing the wrong way to score an own goal. As in, you’d physically have to be standing in the wrong direction to do that. Do you honestly think I’m going to let you do that?”

“Er, no?” Harry guesses, and Louis rolls her eyes.

“You’d deserve to be kicked off if you did do that,” Louis says casually, but her eyes are mischievous. “Chill, yeah? It’ll be okay. You don’t need to start freaking out until it’s a match worth freaking out about. And then I’ll be the one that needs reassuring.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine you needing reassuring,” Harry teases, and Louis makes a mock affronted face.

“You saying I’m cocky, Styles?”

“A little bit, yeah. Well, a whole lot. So cocky,” Harry babbles, ”so, so cocky. Enough that you practically have a cock.”

“So now I have a dick. Cheers.” Louis’ words are coated in sarcasm, and Harry grins. She hasn’t even noticed her heart beat slowing down, the tightness in her chest gradually slipping away, until it’s gone like cut rope.

“You could probably pull it off,” Harry allows, waving one hand, “take that dick and roll with it.”

“Right.” Louis’ looking at her like she’s insane. “You keep that thought with you. I’m going to go talk to Zayn now.”

“Okay,” Harry says brightly, then immediately drops her head in her hands. She is the world’s biggest _twat_. Why do her conversational skills always blow up in her face around pretty girls?

“Are you okay now?” Liam asks anxiously, taking Louis’ space on the bench, “Hazza?”

“Yep, just crippled,” Harry moans, then clarifies at Liam’s double take, “with embarrassment.”

“Oh,” Liam winces, handing Harry her football boots. Harry pulls them on, kicking the studs a couple of times to get the grass off. “How bad was it?”

“I told her she had a dick.”

Liam hesitates for a moment, then says cautiously, “Well, Harry, if you’re into pegging - “

Harry stares at her for a full minute, then squeaks, “How the fuck do you know what pegging is?”

Liam turns scarlett. “Niall was talking about it, then she explained it to me.” She pauses. “Very. Very explicitly. I may possibly be scarred.”

Harry may actually break a rib laughing so hard. She nearly cracks her skull when she doubles over and almost hits her head on her knees. Liam looks absolutely mortified, which only makes Harry laugh even more. Then Niall wanders over, which only makes it even worse. Niall takes one look at Liam’s face, gets it, then joins in laughing.

“You’re all crazy,” Jade sighs, back from the mirror, “Liam, you look as though you’re going to cry. Harry, stop bullying her.”

Luckily for Liam, Louis calls them all together at that point. Harry hastily pulls her hair into a sloppy ponytail. Liam just rolls her eyes, then tugs the band out. Louis does some kind of captain speech, but Harry tunes it out, closing her eyes at the gentle slide of Liam’s fingers in her hair.

When she opens her eyes, Louis’ looking straight at her, blue eyes staring right into her own jade green. Harry startles at the sudden eye contact, but then Louis’ looking away. She ducks her head to say something to Zayn instead, and Harry tries to ignore the nauseous feeling in her stomach.

It’s probably just nerves.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s not Wembley arena, but quite a few people have showed up. There’s a buzz from the people in the school stands, half anticipation and half good natured. Some people are dressed in school colours, but most people have dressed casually. It makes Harry’s stomach unclench a little.

It’s fairly sunny for a Saturday, and Harry breathes in the scent of freshly cut grass, scuffing her shoes a little on the turf. She can see Coach Teasdale standing by the side, hands wrapped around a flask of tea, and she gives her a big thumbs up.

It’s a home game, and Harry can make out Anne and Robin sitting in the stands. They’re chatting with Liam’s parents; Liam’s mum has a sign. Ashton’s sitting next to Harry’s mum - probably chatting her up in all honesty. He waves like a maniac when he sees Harry, then wolf whistles. He elbows the boy next to him. Harry thinks it must be Michael, as his spiky hair is dyed blue. When Ashton elbows him, Michael glares at him, then kicks Ashton in the shin. Harry likes him already.

The captain of the other team jogs over. Their team has an all red uniform, but the girl seems nice enough, chatting with Louis for a moment before jogging back.

“Right,” Louis says once she’s gone, beckoning them all into a huddle. “That’s Jessica, captain of the other team. We’ve played them before. They’re quick on passing, but their centre forward - Lucy, the blond one - plays really dirty. I guarantee we’ll get at least one penalty from her.”

Couch Teasdale blows the whistle, signalling the game is about to start, and Louis’ head snaps up. “We can do this. Come on, positions.”

Jade gives Harry a quick hug before she jogs off to her position. Liam, who is also a midfielder, gives Harry’s hand a squeeze, before jogging off to Harry’s left. At least she’s not completely by herself.

The games goes smoothly enough. Louis and Zayn are really, really good together. Harry’s seen them work together in practise, but this is something else. Harry has to admit the feeling in her gut is jealously - not necessarily of either of them, but of having that closeness, of having that connection with someone that can preempt your moves.

There’s a scary moment when the ball breaks free, and one of the other team is heading for Harry. Harry slips the ball off her easily though - she’s always been good at that, at intercepting the ball, refusing to let the other team get past. She passes it quickly to Jade, who passes over to Louis just as fast, not wanting to be a ball hog.

Louis scores, which results in a deafening roar from the crowd. Louis cheers happily, face flushed, cheeks pink, laughing as Niall barrels into her for a hug. She looks so in her element it makes Harry’s chest hurt.

It’s cliche, but the game blurs for Harry, a mixture of her beating heart, the smell of grass and sweat, the shout of the crowd underlying the shouts of her team and that instinct to listen, to move, to connect, to win.

Lucy, the girl from the other team, does play dirty after halftime, when they’re one goal up. She goes in for a sly tackle once Zayn has the ball, her studs slamming into Zayn’s ankle, Zayn tripping and losing the ball in an instant.

Zayn’s up in a few seconds, she’s no delicate flower, Harry’s seen her spine of steel behind her quietness in practise, but it’s blatant enough that the ref has to blow his whistle. Harry jogs over to where Zayn is, stomach twisting in anxiety.

“Are you okay?” she asks, as Zayn gingerly tests out her ankle.

“Ask me if I give a motherfuck,” Zayn grinds out through gritted teeth, and it’s so out of character that Harry has to laugh.

“I’m getting a free kick out of this,” Louis spits, despite Zayn’s roll of her eyes. Zayn’s perfectly capable of walking, but she keeps her arm around Louis’ waist, hand tucked in against her ribs.

Louis gets her free kick. Harry wasn’t expecting anything less. She also gets a middle finger to Lucy, as the ref turns his back at the right time. Jade takes it, passing it straight to Zayn, who -- though a little wobbly -- passes it to Louis, who dribbles past the defenders and scores, easy as breathing.

The score stays the same until the end of the game, two-nil, and Harry can’t believe it when the final whistle actually goes. Everything’s gone so fast, the minutes ticking by as her feet pound over the grass, and she doesn’t know what to do now it’s all stopped.

For a moment she just lets it the momentum halt, lets the moment settle, until Liam slams into her, arms warm and familiar around her back, and she lets it weight her down, ground her.

It occurs to her that they just won a match, a team she’s on, and she whoops, the sound breaking from her chest. “Bit slow there, Styles,” Liam laughs, but her tone is soft, and she squeezes Harry extra hard.

“Harry!” Jade squeals, joining the hug. She’s small enough she fits in between Liam and Harry, who both are pretty tall, but she’s bouncing on her toes, giving her extra height. “We need a gang name, midfielders are the _shit_.”

“Chill,” Jesy jokes, coming up from the goal, but she’s grinning, happiness making her eyes crinkle at the corners. “It’s one game - “

“It’s one game,” Jade mimics, voice rising in affectionate exasperation. “It’s one game, you always say this, but it’s one game we actually _won_ , so shut up.”

Jesy just laughs, giving Liam and Harry a quick squeeze before going to chat to the defenders. The other team look vaguely dejected, and Harry feels an uncharacteristic rush of vindictiveness when she sees the disgruntled look on Lucy’s face. Good. Harry has no sympathy for cheaters.

“Not bad,” Zayn grins, padding over to them. She has Niall hanging off her, her hands clasped around Zayn’s neck. She’s like one of those velcro monkeys, paws holding on until the end.

“You okay?” Liam asks, concern lacing her tone. “That tackle looked pretty rough.”

Zayn just shrugs, looking effortlessly cool as she does so. Harry reckons it could be the apocalypse, and Zayn would just shrug and stub her cigarette out with the heel of her boot, or something equally elegant and superior. “I’ll get Teasdale to look it over.”

Louis walks over to them, and Harry’s heart flips, because Louis’ just the right side of sweaty, eyes flashing triumphantly, strands of hair curling around her face, chest heaving slightly. She’s got a smudge of dirt just below her left cheekbone, and Harry has the inexplicable urge to wipe it off with the pad of her thumb.

“Good game,” Louis grins, then, “oof, Niall, get off me, you weigh a freaking tonne.”

She pretends to push Niall off, but Harry can see the way she squeezes her back even as she pushes her away. “Nice interception, Harry. And good movement, Liam, you didn’t let them get away from you. Next practise we’ll - “

“Can we not relive the game right now?” Niall groans, pushing off Louis and cuddling up to Jade. Jade just pets her like a puppy. Niall seems to like it well enough. “We just lived it. Literally. I’m not reliving something I just lived. You know why? Because I just lived it.”

“Are you drunk?” Zayn asks perfectly seriously, then snickers when Niall flips her off. “Lou, I’m sure you’re dying to rehash every second, but can we do it next practise please?”

It’s obviously a well worn argument, because Louis smirks at Zayn, lips curving up in familiar amusement. She opens her mouth to say something, when there’s a squeal from the sides, then Louis’ little sisters barrel onto the pitch.

Louis’ face softens as she picks one of them up -- Phoebe, Harry thinks, -- swinging her round. All her edges seem to soften, giving way until they’re well worn and shining. “Hey, pumpkin. Did you watch the game?”

“It was boring,” Phoebe moans, and everyone laughs. “It was soooo long, Louis, it felt like a whole month.”

“Is that right?” Louis asks, winking at Zayn. “Well, I guess I’ll have to be super speedy getting changed, right? To make up for all that lost time.”

“Mum says we can go out to the park after,” Daisy says solemnly, peeking around Zayn’s legs. “So hurry up.”

“Will do,” Louis promises, sending the girls off back to their mum. Harry looks over and sees a woman with brown hair in the stands, wearing a scarf with the school colours. “Okay, I’m just going to thank the ref and the other team.”

Harry watches her go, until she hears Ashton calling her name. He pulls her into a massive bear hug, squeezing her tightly. “Hazza, you were so good!” he exclaims. He has his hipster glasses on today, and he’s beaming. “Smashed it, Hazza, you really did. You too, Liam.”

Liam dimples at him, then Ashton’s eyes fall on Zayn. Zayn, who’s currently taking a sip of water from her bottle like a sports model, shirt pulled tight over her chest as she tips her head back.

“Hi, Zayn,” Ashton mumbles, and goes bright red. It may be the best day of Harry’s life.

Zayn blinks a few times, which must be a ploy to show off her eyelashes, no one has that much sleepy dust in their eyes, then says slowly, “Hey.”

Ashton looks as though he may pass out. Harry’s a little worried he’s stopped breathing, but then she remembers she’s next to Liam, and if anyone knows mouth to mouth it’s her. And Ashton’s not ugly, they’ll surely be some takers for the kiss of life if it comes to it.

“Hey, Michael,” Zayn greets, and Michael does this kind of cool, emo kid nod, and says hey back. Is emo the right word? Is that offensive? Maybe it’s just a too cool, artistically expressive silent gesture thing.

Zayn walks away with a little wave, and Ashton gapes at Michael. “You just said hi to Zayn Malik? What the hell, dude?”

“Well, I don’t wear bandanas, do I?” Michael retorts, as if that proves everything. “Nice game, Harry. I didn’t understand any of it, but you won. So. Good job.”

Harry catches the slightly sharp, sarcastic glint in his eye, and grins back, liking him on impulse. “Thanks. Means a lot. What dye do you use for your hair?”

Michael looks taken aback, but Harry just shrugs sheepishly. She’s genuinely curious; Michael’s hair is awesome; it looks like blue candyfloss.

“Um, my mum got it for me,” Michael says slowly.

Harry shrugs. “Cool.”

Michael gives her a thumbs up, then turns back to texting. “I’ll see you in a bit, Harry,” Ashton grins, “I’ll go talk to your mum while you’re getting changed - “

“Don’t flirt with my mum,” Harry pleads, groaning at Ashton’s grin, “Ash, it’s creepy. You’re creepy. Boys are creepy. Bad Ashton. Stay.”

“It’s either chat to your mum or come in the changing rooms,” Ashton offers. Harry rolls her eyes.

“Go into the changing rooms and Louis Tomlinson will chop your balls off,” Michael snorts, not looking up from his phone. “She has razor blades in her hair.”

“You have razor blades in your hair,” Ashton gripes, “so you’ll eventually cut it off, because it’s such a gross colour. You look like a giant skittle.”

Michael gapes at him, then bursts into laughter. “That’s the best you could come up with? A giant skittle?”

Harry giggles at Ashton’s pout, shaking her head. “Okay, I’m going to change, you two are weird. Ashton, leave my mum alone.”

“Bye,” Ashton waves cheerfully, Michael already dragging him off.

Liam looks at her seriously. “You need new friends.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apparently, being part of a winning football team has a detrimental effect on Harry’s memory, because it’s only Saturday when she realises that she still hasn’t got a present for Lux. Her birthday’s on Wednesday, so Harry grabs her purse and jacket, and heads straight to _Toys R Us_.

She’d rather get her something more creative, but she hasn’t got the time. Harry figures she can always get her something vaguely educational. She’s just browsing animal snap cards, when there’s a soft noise behind her.

Louis’ standing there, in a blue uniform, eyes wide. “Hi.”

“I’m not stalking you,” Harry blurts, and Louis grins.

“I was wondering if you had a tracker on me or something,” Louis says, crossing her arms.

“To be fair, you are free to turn at my workplace at anytime,” Harry points out, relaxing minutely. Louis doesn’t look like she’s going to bolt like a frightened horse anymore. “We do go great cherry scones. I work at the bakery in town.”

“Right.” Louis holds out her blue work shirt. “Are you impressed by my _Toys R Us_ uniform?”

Harry bites her lip, trying not to giggle. “Very nice. Brings out the colour of your eyes.”

“Brings out the colour of my depression,” Louis mutters, which doesn’t even make sense, but Harry giggles anyway. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“It’s my friend’s birthday,” Harry explains, holding up the cards. “She’s three.”

“Cute,” Louis comments, wandering closer. “Isn’t she into princesses yet? Why don’t you get her a costume?”

“That’s generic,” Harry pouts, “I want to get her something that like, will stimulate her learning.”

Louis eyes her up. “Okay, weirdo. You know the first thing she’s going to do is stick those cards in her mouth? It might stimulate her _gums_ , I suppose.”

Harry pouts, looking down at the cards. They have a lion on. “I want to get her something a little different.” Harry crosses her arms. “You work here. You have to help me.”

“Alright,” Louis huffs, but she’s smiling. “Come on. Keep the cards.”

“You just said they were rubbish!” Harry protests, but she puts them in the basket anyway. She trails after Louis as she heads down one of the aisle.

“Okay, why don’t you get her some glitter pens,” Louis suggests, throwing a pack into Harry’s basket. “Then she can draw artistically inaccurate scribbles, along with some stickers - “

Louis throws in a packet of Frozen stickers, then a packet of _Spiderman_ ones as well. She shrugs at Harry’s raised eyebrow. “Do you want to limit your child?”

“Yeah, because a lack of Peter Parker will do that,” Harry says, but she keeps them in anyway. “Also, not my child.”

“So, I won’t be seeing you on 16 and pregnant?” Louis asks. She almost sounds disappointed. “Who’s is it then? Your cousin?”

“No, just a girl I babysit,” Harry shrugs, picking up a fairy colouring book and inspecting it carefully. “You know Coach Teasdale? It’s her little girl, Lux.”

“You babysit for Coach Teasdale?” Louis repeats, scrunching up her nose. “Is that why she let you out of PE for three years?”

“You remember that?” Harry asks curiously, and it’s weird, because Louis goes bright red.

“I guess so,” she mumbles, staring hard at a packet of stickers in her hands. They’re _Fireman_ _Sam_ ones. They’re really not that interesting. “Does she like _Fireman_ _Sam_?”

“She hasn’t shown any signs of pyromania, no,” Harry says slowly, trying to get a glimpse of Louis’ face. “Are you blushing?”

“No!” Louis squeaks, which means she definitely is. She throws the stickers in Harry’s basket, then wraps a hand around her arm, tugging her towards the tills. “Stop harassing staff.”

Harry snorts. “Stop manhandling customers.”

Louis lets go of Harry’s arm like she’s been burnt. “I don’t like you.”

“You don’t like being embarrassed about weird things,” Harry corrects cheerfully, hanging back. Louis still has pink tinged cheeks, but she rolls her eyes, some of her usual sass coming back.

“It’s not weird, you’re the one trying to _stimulate_ _learning_ ,” Louis mocks. “Do you not having any younger siblings? My baby sisters shove pasta down the radiator, they don’t ‘actively learn’ and all that crap.”

“I only have one sister. But she’s older. Gemma.”

Louis cocks her head to one side. “Is she the one who has sick hair? Wasn’t it blue once?”

“Um, yeah,” Harry concedes, trying to think back. “It’s blonde now, but she did once.”

Harry’s pretty sure that was a couple of years ago, actually. Possibly Year 11, when Gemma came with her to parent’s evening because Anne and Robin had booked a fancy night out. Why would Louis remember that, that’s so weird -

“Zayn wants to dye Niall’s pink,” Louis says casually. Her hair’s braided today, neatly plaited down her back. Harry’s hair never looks that good in the bakery, frizzy with the heat, more than likely to have egg or flour in it. “Niall will probably go for it, she’s ridiculously laid back. It’ll look as good as well, more than likely.”

“Niall’s cute, of course it’ll look good,” Harry dismisses. “Zayn’s hot, Niall’s cute, laws of the universe and everything.”

“You think Zayn is hot?” Louis repeats, and Harry claps a hand over her mouth.

Ugh, her babbling is going to get her into trouble one day. Then she thinks about what Nick said about Louis and Zayn, and has to bite her tongue to stop the accusations tumbling out.

“Do you want me to pass that on? What would you describe me as?”

“Don’t be a twat. And loud,” Harry huffs, “really loud.“ Louis just laughs. “I’m going to report you or something. Ha, I’m going to make a customer complaint.”

“No you’re not,” Louis smirks. An uncomfortable heat stirs in Harry’s stomach, which no, no let’s not go there. “You wouldn’t do that. Come on, I’ll swap with James on the tills, you can use my staff discount.”

“Seriously?” Harry asks, taken aback. Louis looks down at her feet, pointedly not making eye contact. “Louis, I couldn’t - “

“Shh,” Louis hushes, then grabs Harry’s basket off her before she can protest. Harry trails after her, feeling confused, something warm settling behind her collarbone. Louis chats with the boy on the tills, who grins and nods his head, slipping out of the chair.

“Are you allowed to do this?” Harry asks suspiciously.

It’s a Saturday morning, the shop is bustling with customers, little kids in prams, mum’s cradling toddlers in their arms. There’s a few weary, older siblings as well, traipsing after the trolley while their little brother or sister grabs toys off the shelves at random.

“Course,” Louis snorts, beeping Harry’s stickers. The glitter pens are actually quite cute, they’re scented and have five different colours.

“Well, I do like a working woman,” Harry says cheekily, without even thinking about it, and then freezes. It’s one of her normal, flirty comments, something she’d say to Liam or Ashton. It’s just awkward, because - because it’s Louis, and they’ve had sex, and Louis left her, ect. ect, cue tears and uneasiness.

Louis gives her a look, biting her bottom lip. She clears her throat, shakes her head, then says, “Well, you know, Zayn works at the coffee shop down town.”

Harry laughs, the warm feeling spilling over, flowing through the rest of her body until she’s beaming. “Okay, I do not have a crush on Zayn. Besides, I’m pretty sure Zayn’s got a crush on someone else.”

“Who?” Louis asks curiously, the tension disappearing as if it was never there.

Harry thinks about it for moment, then decides she probably shouldn’t drop her best friend in it, especially when she’s not sure Liam doesn’t hate Louis. Or the Liam equivalent of hate, which is like, pretending you don’t have a pencil if asked.

“I can’t remember,” Harry fibs, “I think I just heard it somewhere.”

“Right,” Louis drawls, clearly not believing her. Harry ducks her head and starts putting the stuff in her bags. Louis scans the last item and tallies it up. “Okay, that’s £11.23 with my discount.”

Harry counts the change out slowly, eyes fixed on Louis the entire time. Louis is obviously trying to ignore her gaze, but is doing a shit job, fidgeting in her seat. She looks up finally, lips pursed together. “What?”

“Are you trying to buy me off?” Harry asks, straight faced.

Louis startles in her seat, scrambling over her words to correct her. “No, of course, that’s not - “

“Chill,” Harry giggles, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. It’s kind of gratifying to gain this level of reaction from Louis. “I was kidding. It’s okay.”

“You’re mean,” Louis says flatly, but the corner of her lips are twitching. “You know I’m not, though, right? I’m just being nice. You deserve a bit of niceness.”

“Thanks,” Harry grins. She slips the handle of her bag over her wrist, rocking back on her feet. “Thanks for helping me pick a present.”

“That’s okay,” Louis smiles, “I hope Lux likes it.”

Harry wavers for a bit, but she can’t think of anything else to say. She and Louis smile at each other dumbly, before Harry snaps out of it, giving a little wave before she leaves the shop. Louis waves back, and Harry smiles all the way home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Do you sleep?”

Harry blinks up at Niall. She and Liam are sitting at their usual table, eating their lunch. Niall slides into the seat next to Liam, grinning at them. She’s wearing a loose tank top and skinny jeans, fluffy jumper zipped half way up. It’s bigger than her, so it’s probably Josh’s.

“Because I’m having a sleepover at mine,” Niall declares, before Liam and Harry can say anything. “I was going to invite all the team, but I don’t think Greg could handle more than three girls at once. He has an asthma attack whenever Zayn’s in the vicinity, Lou’s just as bad, flashing her tits about.”

“Um,” Harry replies eloquently, because she doesn’t really need that mental image. Wants it, but doesn’t need it. “Okay?”

“Great,” Niall grins, “Liam, you’ll come, won’t you? I’m selling it to my parents as a team bonding exercise. But they won’t believe that if it’s just us three, but you’re like, sensible, so. They’ll believe it.”

“I’ll ask my parents,” Liam shrugs, but she looks happy. Harry’s not sure if it’s the image of Zayn in pyjamas, but Liam is doing her crinkly eye smile. “Thanks, Niall. That’s really nice.”

“It’s cool,” Niall shrugs, “Harry, you’ll come, right? I have extra sleeping bags and everything. Or we can sleep in the tent, but Zayn will definitely bitch. Last time she and Louis waited until I was asleep, then sneaked back inside. I woke up _alone_ , how sad is that?”

“Er, very?” Liam offers, looking dubious. Niall laughs, like Liam is hilariously funny, which she’s _not_ , then walks away, still giggling.

“I’ll come with you to tell your mum,” Harry suggests casually, wincing when she sees Liam’s face fall.

Liam’s mum is lovely, but she’s also going to be very enthusiastic about the fact Liam has ‘new friends.’ Liam was really badly bullied when she was younger, was a bit chubby, and Harry knows her mum worries about her. Harry worries about her, knows how self conscious Liam can be, worrying herself crazy if she misses so much as one kickboxing session. Harry personally thinks everyone is beautiful any size, as long as you’re healthy and not hurting yourself, but unfortunately the world doesn’t work that way.

“Oh god,” Liam groans, thunking her head on the table. “She’ll be beaming, she’ll probably want to invite them all round. She practically cried when she found out I was on the football team. She’s so excited that I actually have _friends_.”

“You have friends,” Harry frowns, curving an arm around Liam’s waist. Liam leans into her, melts into her side with a sigh. It’s normally the other way with them, Liam’s the one that’s fiercely protective, but Harry tugs Liam close, curls around her as if she’s Liam’s own shield.

“It’ll be fun going to Niall’s sleepover,” Harry continues, “Niall’s nice.”

Liam looks at her, hazel eyes pensive. “And Louis? Is Louis nice?”

Harry shrugs, ducks her eyes and ignores the squirming in her stomach. “I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “She doesn’t ignore me anymore. Or like, look like she’s mentally throwing footballs at my head.”

Liam shakes her head. “She wouldn’t do it mentally, mate. She’s captain, she’d slam it into your skull.”

“Thanks for that,” Harry says sarcastically, and Liam bursts out laughing.

“You’re improving,” Liam smirks, “you could definitely take her on. But seriously, I’ll only go if you want to.”

“We can go,” Harry smiles, rolling her eyes. Liam is too nice for her own good. “It’ll be fun. And you’ll get to see Zayn in pyjamas.”

She sings the last bit, and Liam tries to scowl at her. It doesn’t go really well; Liam is rubbish at hiding her emotions, and in all honesty Harry doubts _anyone_ would mind seeing Zayn in pyjamas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Does anyone know how to make mini pizzas?”

Niall is looking at the packet like it’s a hand grenade; Louis looks similarly befuddled, and Zayn is just leaning lazily against the counter. Harry’s not sure she’s not sleeping standing up. Niall had hugged Harry when she opened the door, then dragged her into the kitchen, demanding she help them.

“You don’t make them,” Harry corrects, tugging the box out of her hands. “You literally just put them in the oven.”

“Hm,” Niall hums, glancing curiously at the box. Harry doesn’t get her at all. “Do you know that because you’re a baker?”

“Maybe she knows it because she’s not a fucking idiot,” Louis snaps, throwing her hands up in the air. “There is an oven symbol on the front of the box. Harry isn’t fucking thick.”

“Thank you?” Harry says, not quite sure if it’s a compliment. It sounded vaguely positive. Louis gives her a tentative smile, her blue eyes softening, before she glances back over to Niall. “Niall, hurry up and put them in the oven.”

“Calm down,” Niall grins, “let me show Liam and Harry where to put their stuff. Got to be a proper host, yeah?”

Louis and Zayn both snort at that, matching skeptical expressions on their faces. Niall just flips them off, before motioning to Liam and Harry. Niall’s house is small but cozy, bright rugs on their floor, framed photos of a tiny Niall with bunches on the wall. Harry immediately feels at ease, can imagine how comfy it would be to curl up on the sofas and watch a film.

“Parent’s are out at the moment,” Niall explains, “they should be back later. Their room’s upstairs anyway, so we shouldn’t wake them up. Greg’s at his girlfriend’s, so he won’t be here annoying us.”

“Greg’s your brother?” Liam guesses, smiling at her when Niall nods. “I’ve only got sisters.”

“You’re lucky,” Niall says, rolling her eyes. “Greg can be a right eejit. He pulls out the big brother card all the time. Josh almost pissed himself the first time they met. Okay, dump your stuff here.”

She motions to the sea of mattresses and pillows on the floor. Liam had made Harry bring an actual sleeping bag, a wash bag, and a pillow. Harry likes packing, but always forgets to do it, so Liam has probably done her a favour.

“We can play FIFA,” Niall says, gesturing to the Xbox in the corner. “Greg gets arsey with me because I always beat him. Louis cheats though, you’ll have to watch her.”

Harry has absolutely no idea how to play FIFA, but it can’t be too different to live football. If she can manage to not break a leg in a real game, surely she can handle a virtual kick about.

Louis and Zayn have got the pizzas out when they traipse back to the kitchen, poking them where they’re laying on the tray.

“I think we should put some more cheese on them,” Louis laments, not looking up. “There’s hardly any cheese on that, _Iceland_ is shit.”

“It’s a four cheese pizza,” Liam says slowly, “I’m not sure how they’re couldn’t be enough cheese.”

“You wouldn’t,” Louis mutters darkly, and there’s an awkward pause. Harry had almost forgot Liam and Louis didn’t get on, hadn’t really interacted in all fairness. Harry is more intimate with her than Liam is. Ha. Intimate.

“I’ll put the oven on,” Harry announces cheerfully, trying to snap the tension. “Louis, hand me the tray.”

“Don’t let them burn,” Louis orders immediately, handing them over. “Burnt pizza is disgusting, if you burn it you’re buying a new one.”

“Brat,” Zayn mumbles, smirking when Louis glares at her. “Fine, why don’t you watch the pizza then? Like the freak you are.”

“I will.” Louis sticks out her bottom lip petulantly. “Harry will watch them with me, won’t you, Harry?”

“Um, yes?” Harry says, and she’s got to stop answering everything Louis says with questions. “Sure. The box said it would take eight to ten minutes, so.”

“Great idea,” Niall says brightly, “Liam and Zayn can help me set FIFA up.”

Harry and Louis are left in the kitchen, awkwardness falling like a parody of before, only their silence is far more charged than Louis and Liam’s. Harry clears her throat, turning the dial on the oven before sliding the tray in.

“What a team,” Louis mutters dryly, and Harry giggles uncertainly. Louis relaxes a little at that, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I bet you make better pizza than this at the bakery.”

Harry smiles, leaning back against one of the counters. “We don’t normally make pizza at the bakery, but I am pretty good at it. Mum buys basil from the market, and then if the mozzarella slices are on offer I get them. I always make it for Gemma’s birthday.”

“Cool,” Louis grins, pushing herself up onto one of the counters. She swings her legs back and forth, heels kicking the cupboard front. Her hair’s in a messy bun, strands falling everywhere, and she’s in an old football jersey. She’s not wearing any makeup, face sweet and open.

“What about you, any good at cooking?” Harry teases, gesturing to the oven. “Because that was such a brilliant display of culinary excellence.”

“Hey, that was mainly Niall!” Louis laughs, shaking her head. “I’m like, allergic to cooking. Everything I make just gets messed up. I swear, if I go to uni I’m going to order in all the time. Or blackmail someone into doing it for me.”

“You want to go to uni then?” Harry asks. She tries to jump up on the counter herself, but she accidentally slides off and bangs her hips. She clings to the hope that Louis didn’t notice how lame that was, but no such luck.

“Smooth,” Louis snorts, and Harry sticks her tongue out at her. “I hope so, yeah? I don’t - I don’t know yet. I’m not sure what I would do.”

“Football?” Harry offers. “You’re good at it. Obviously, cause like, you’re the captain. You probably knew that.”

Louis doesn’t laugh at her rambling, just looks amused, which is nice. “I don’t know, it’s different from playing in school and playing in a real team, you know? I’m not that good. Fantastic in Year 12 is like mediocre in a premier league. And women’s football never gets the recognition it deserves anyway, it’s total shit.”

“You could be a coach or something,” Harry suggests. The mini pizzas are starting to cook, it’s making her stomach rumble. “Or a PE teacher.”

“Maybe for little kids,” Louis considers thoughtfully, “the Year 8s are so fucking gobby though, I couldn’t teach them. What about you, curly?”

“Maybe journalism,” Harry shrugs. Outwardly she is cool as ice, but she’s currently freaking out about her new nickname. Curly. God. “Or sociology. I’ve got a year to think about it.”

“Yeah,” Louis smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “What’s your sister studying?”

“Business, she’s really smart,” Harry smiles. “I think the little timer thing went off.”

They successfully manage to retrieve the pizzas, and Harry finds a few plates from the cupboards. Niall wanders back in, sniffing appreciatively, grabbing a couple of plates off Harry. The living room is all set up, Liam and Zayn awkwardly sharing a sofa. Niall flops down onto one of the armchairs.

Harry gingerly sits down onto the other sofa, Louis grabbing the controller Niall lobs at her. “Prepare for me to kick your arses, ladies.”

Liam snorts, a familiar competitive gleam in her eyes. “In your dreams, Tomlinson.”

“Excuse me, I am the FIFA queen,” Louis snaps, shoving a slice of pizza in her mouth. “My skills extend to further than just on the pitch.”

“I can’t play FIFA,” Harry offers, “Niall, can I have another slice of pizza?”

Niall passes her another slice of pizza. “Is this some kind of alpha female thing? I thought you hated Harry, not Liam.”

“I don’t hate Harry,” Louis squeals, the same time Liam asks, “Alpha female?”

Niall shrugs. “I saw it on _Teen Wolf_.”

Harry cheeks are flushing; Zayn starts laughing. “You are so full of shit.”

“I don’t hate Liam either,” Louis says, smacking the sofa with the controller for emphasis. “I just - “

“Okay,” Harry calls loudly, putting her plate down with a clink. “Niall, turn the game on. Liam’s not a wolf, I don’t know about Louis, I’ve never seen her on a full moon - Louis, don’t pull that face and show me how to play FIFA. We’ll never know who’s better, and I won’t know unless you turn the game on.”

There’s a pause after Harry’s outburst, four pairs of wide eyes turning to Harry. Harry squirms a little. “Um, please?”

Zayn cracks up, throwing her head back, dark hair cascading down her back. “Oh my god, just put the game on.”

Harry bites her bottom lip, but now Niall’s laughing too. Louis just grins, scooting along the sofa, nudging Harry with her elbow. “Look, this one does this.”

Louis’ hands are small, but warm, and she gently manipulates Harry’s fingers. Harry is still shocking at it, no surprise. “Harry, that’s not even the right way, don’t - no - okay, Liam’s scored. Thanks for that.”

“This is hard,” Harry pouts after the fifth game. Louis makes a face at her; Harry makes one right back.

Liam and Louis have got to Montague and Capulet levels of intensity; the last time Harry saw Liam this focused, she was ordering tickets for _The Winter Soldier_.

“How is it you can play football on a field, but you can’t play it when it’s on a TV screen?” Niall grins.

“My coordination is selective,” Harry answers honestly, and Zayn giggles. Harry stretches, nudging Louis with her toe. Louis ignores her, whooping when something changes on the screen. Harry thinks she won. Maybe. Or it’s free time or whatever.

“You know who isn’t selective?” Niall smirks, swinging her legs up beneath her, curling up like a little cat. “Your friend Ashton. I’m pretty sure he was hitting on your mum.”

“Probably,” Harry sighs, “he would literally hit on anything with a pulse.”

Niall wrinkles her nose. “I think Jade has a thing for him.”

“No,” Zayn frowns, sitting up from where she’s snuggled into the sofa. “I think she’s got a thing for Jesy.”

Harry feels her heart thud, an instinctive reaction, but Niall just gasps, blinking at Zayn. “That’s not true! I would have seen that.”

“Yeah, because you’re so intuitive,” Zayn snorts. “You literally had to walk in on me and Perrie to realise we’d been - “

“Having filthy lesbian sex,” Louis breaks in, not lifting her eyes from the screen. “Zee, everyone knew about that, you came to school with your skirt back to front.”

“One time,” Zayn hisses, whilst Niall howls. Zayn picks up one of the pillows, and lobs it at Louis. Louis squeals, drops the remote, and Liam cheers as she apparently gets the opening she was looking for.

“I’m going to kill you,” Louis says flatly, then jumps across Harry to get to Zayn. Zayn gets a pillow to the head - Harry gets a foot to her bladder.

“Ugh,” Harry groans, shoving Louis off her lap. “Oh my god, I think you’ve killed me.”

“You’re a chatty corpse,” Niall notes innocently, then shrieks when Louis sniper crawls to her armchair. “Lou, get the fuck off - “

It ends in a massive pillow fight, which Harry inexplicably gets dragged into. She doesn’t have a pillow though, so she has to improvise with a sleeping bag. She’s just trying to suffocate Liam in Zayn’s _Captain America_ duvet, when the door creaks open, and someone’s head pokes around the door.

Niall’s mum looks vaguely shocked, but Niall just beams at her. Louis is half burrowed under Zayn and a mountain of pillows, but she manages a cheery, “Hey, Maura!” all the same.

“Hello,” Niall’s mum says warily, smiling tugging at the corner of her lips. “Louis and Zayn, nice to see you destroying my sofa.” Louis gives her a cheerful thumbs up. “You must be Liam and Harry.”

Harry gives her a big smile; she likes Niall’s mum already, she reminds her of Niall and doesn’t seem to mind the fact Harry’s strangling Liam. “Niall, me and your da are going upstairs, and then we’re going out early tomorrow.”

She waves them goodbye, and Harry rolls off of Liam. Louis removes her pillow from Zayn’s face and flops onto her stomach, resting her head on her hands. “Okay, let’s watch a horror film.”

“I’ve won,” Liam says nonchalantly, waving her controller. Louis glares at her, but Liam misses it, too busy staring at Zayn running her hands through her hair. Zayn pulls a hair band off her wrist, twisting her hair into a messy bun, and Liam watches the arch of her neck.

“What horror film?” Niall asks, “I’m going to put some popcorn in.”

“ _Crazed Asylum 6_ ,” Louis says immediately, sliding off the sofa. She rumages around until she finds the DVD. “Ha, got it!”

Harry squints at the cover; it looks suitably gory and horrifying, token screaming blond girl and haunted house/forest/graveyard/asylum which no one would reasonably go into. Not anyone who’d ever see a horror film, at any rate.

“Can’t we watch something else?” Liam hesitates after a second, throwing a glance at Harry. Harry realises she’s been biting her lip and stops, shrugging sheepishly.

Harry isn’t very good with horror films. Like, stays up all night with the lights on, her tennis racket grasped in one sweaty hand, and Liam on speed dial not very good. It’s not her fault she prefers cute films - she just likes happy endings.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out _Crazed Asylum 6_ doesn’t have a happy ending.

“Popcorn,” Niall announces cheerfully, placing an overflowing bowl down. Harry can smell the buttery scent from her seat on the sofa, and her mouth waters. Louis shoves the DVD in haphazardly, then grabs a handful of popcorn.

She slides back onto the sofa, shoves some in her mouth, then turns to Harry. Louis holds out her hand. Harry blinks. Louis narrows her eyes. Harry takes some of the popcorn out of Louis’ hands, and eats it very slowly. Louis beams.

The movie starts playing, and -- predictably -- the protagonist is utterly incompetent, ignores all the obvious signs that predict certain doom and creepiness, and is soon running for their life, but probably not the lives of all the secondary characters who will certainly die.

Harry is not scared, okay. She is definitely not scared. She’s just - cold. That’s why she’s shaking. Um, and the little whine she just made was because she stubbed her toe. Um.

The axe murderer jumps out when the couple are having sex in one of the cells (seriously, Harry doesn’t even feel bad, this couple have the preservation skills of a slug), and Harry jumps so hard she drops popcorn on the floor.

“Are you okay?” Louis whispers, making her jump again. Harry quickly picks all the dropped popcorn, then doesn’t know what to do with it. She places it on the table awkwardly. “Why are you cleaning?”

“Ugh, no reason,” Harry blinks, “no, wait, because it’s Niall’s house? I felt a bit bad, plus you should be tidy anyway - “

“Are you scared?” Louis whispers. She is actually whispering, which is impressive. Harry didn’t realise Louis was good at being subtle. “Harry, you look like you’re going to shit yourself.”

“I’m not,” Harry mumbles, but then someone starts screaming and she flinches. Louis raises an eyebrow. “Okay, so maybe it’s a little scary.”

“Do you want a cuddle?” Louis smirks, and it makes Harry feel like an idiot, heat flashing through her cheeks.

Louis might not even mean it that way, or Harry might just be sensitive, but Harry juts out her chin. “Yes,” she says firmly, not breaking eye contact, “I kind of do.”

Louis blinks, looking taken aback. In all fairness, Harry has just challenged her to a cuddle off. Is that a thing? That should be a thing. It would be a great ice breaker at parties. She crosses her arms, jutting out her chin.

“Okay,” Louis snaps. She can see indecision flit over Louis’ face, before azure eyes harden. Harry can’t actually believe she’s that obstinate. “Get over here then.”

Aggressive cuddling is -- apparently -- a thing.

They’re not proper cuddling, because that would be a bit weird, but Harry’s resting her head on Louis’ shoulder. Louis smells nice, and her shirt is soft against Harry’s cheek. She had to screw up all her courage to do it, and Louis seems a bit flawed.

Tentatively, she slides an arm around Harry’s waist, matching her move for move, though they both haven’t quite learnt the rules, and they move their pieces with fumbling hands. Her hand settles over Harry’s side, fingers stilling on the jut of her hip, like a key in a lock.

Harry’s face is burning, and she’s pretty sure Louis’ is as well. She glances over to the others. Niall is engrossed in the movie, methodically eating popcorn with her mouth open.

Liam is looking a bit confused, and Harry snorts. Louis jabs in her the side, eyes curious; they’re really, really close. Harry feels like all the air has been snatched out of her lungs.

“Liam’s such a girl guide,” Harry whispers, low enough Liam can’t hear. “She’s probably planning a horror story survival kit right now.”

Louis smirks, rolling her eyes as she glances over to Liam. “Sounds like her. Rule one: if alone in a forest, don’t talk to strangers. Footnote six, rule one, this especially applies to strangers with weapons. Coda to footnote six, rule one, if you are the sexually appealing character, ignore all rules, you’re going to die anyway. Fuck everything up while you can.”

“If you are feeling particularly adventurous,” Harry continues, adopting the same presenter voice. “Why not take someone out with you! Advise the group to split up! Take instructions from the creepy old man in the forest. Have sex at an inopportune moment - ”

“And if you’re really going for it,” Louis cuts in, “go for a big finale. Why not get rid of any exit you have! Stalling the only available vehicle normally does the trick. West side.”

Louis throws up a stupid gesture with her free hand, and Harry giggles, clasping her hand over her mouth to muffle it. Louis beams at her, corners of her eyes crinkling. She opens her mouth to say something, but Niall cuts her off.

Niall narrows her eyes at them, and Louis slides her arm off Harry’s shoulder like she’s been burnt. Harry misses the passive aggressive snuggling. “What are you giggling about? You’ll miss the movie.”

“About how to survive a horror film,” Louis answers promptly. She’s scooted a couple of spaces away from Harry, and Harry feels every inch like a kick to the stomach.

“What horror film?” Liam says immediately, “like, a zombie apocalypse, or a ghost one, or - “

“Jesus, I don’t know,” Louis sighs, “zombie apocalypse.”

“I’d go to Zayn’s,” Niall offers, “we should all go to Zayn’s.”

“You should go somewhere high up,” Liam argues, shaking her head. “Hard to get to, but with easier exit routes if you need it - “

“That’s so complicated,” Louis buts in, “nah, just do it Katniss styley. Climb up a tree and throw wasps at them.”

“Why are we going to Zayn’s?” Harry asks Niall, “I’ll come to Zayn’s with you.”

Niall beams. She sticks her tongue out at the other two. “Ha, me and Harry are going to survive the apocalypse, you’re all going to _die_.”

“Harsh,” Zayn says softly. She stretches her leg out, nudges Liam’s thigh with her toe. “I’d let Liam in. She be good at rationing and shit.”

Liam beams, just as Louis lets out an outraged shriek. “Excuse me, what I am supposed to do?”

“You did say you were going to go all Katniss styley,” Harry points out, grinning when Louis glares at her. “We had to make other options.”

“I hate you all,” Louis scowls, which only makes Zayn burst into laughter. “I hope you all die in the zombie apocalypse.”

Louis’ pout shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

 

 

 

 

 

They drop so late it’s early, sugar high kicking in. Harry wriggles around in her sleeping bag, trying to ignore the popcorn digging into her back. Niall is snoring softly, and Harry giggles quietly, tucking her face into the soft fabric of her pillow.

She wakes up after a couple of hours, the room washed in grey. Harry’s eyes feel heavy, but she blinks a few times. Liam and Zayn are curled together like a comma. They’ve ended up sharing the same pillow, faces inches apart, parallels of each other.

Niall is curled up on the sofa, having claimed it when they are crashed, only the tops of her blond hair showing, silver as the light from the gap in the curtains creeps over her. Harry rolls onto her other side, sighing.

Louis sleeps with her fists balled, as if she’s fighting off enemies in her dreams. She has her legs tucked beneath her, Harry can see their curved outline through the sleeping bag. Louis’ lips are pinched, frowning slightly in her sleep. Harry wonders what she’s dreaming about.

It’s strangely intimate, Harry watching the slow rise and fall of Louis’ breathing, the room layered in sepia, a dull muteness apart from the soft inhales of Harry’s girls. Maybe it’s just the sugar rush, but she feels like she can call them that now. She hasn’t had so much fun in ages, and Liam likes Zayn and Harry likes Louis, and Niall likes everyone, and it just _fits_.

Louis’ eyelashes kiss her cheek, fluttering as she dreams. Harry’s heart is beating slowly against her ribs, cautiously playing the same tempo. Louis exhales, lips parting, and Harry feels something gold and muted push against her ribs.

She closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUICK SHOUT OUT TO STAR55 I COPIED YOUR HALLOWEEN COSTUMES I AM SO SORRY I HAD BURNT OUT BY THE TIME I GOT TO NIALL

Seriously, fuck who ever thought ovaries were a good idea.

Like, Harry’s not normally an aggressive person, but she’d stab whoever decided periods were necessary.

Harry scowls at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looks pale and cross, her eyes red rimmed. She woke up feeling all icky, and she’s ruined her favourite knickers. There’s double psychology lesson today before lunch, complete with a half an hour revision test. As if things couldn’t be worse.

Her mood hasn’t improved as she trudges to school. Liam’s got a dentist appointment this morning, so it’s just Harry. She puts her earbuds in, turning it up as loud as she can.

Harry’s heading for form when she sees Zayn. Zayn looks flawless as ever, which makes Harry hate her for a moment. Only a moment though, because she does really like Zayn. It’s not her fault she was blessed with good genes.

“You okay, babe?” Zayn asks, raising one eyebrow. Harry bites her lip, but then an extremely bad cramp hits her, and she winces.

“Time of the month,” Harry mumbles, and Zayn face twists in sympathy.

“Awe, babe,” Zayn coos, sliding her bag off her shoulder. “Do you want an ibuprofen?”

Harry nods, wandering over to Zayn, when Max George and his idiots smack into her. It’s probably the fact she feels like she’s being punched in the stomach, but Max’s hard shoulder _hurts_.

Harry feels her eyes begin to burn, and Zayn snaps angrily, “Oi, watch where you’re going.”

Max is broad shouldered with small eyes, and he sniggers at Harry. “Aw, are you going to cry, Styles? You on your blob or something?”

It’s just pure coincidence, but Harry feels hot anger surge through her. She opens her mouth, throat feeling tight, when someone comes up behind her.

“Do you want to know what happens on your period, Max?” Louis snaps, and the relief Harry feels is dizzying.

Max physically balks at the sight of Louis, which is hilarious. Louis tosses her head, and continues. “Your cervix contracts and dilates to let blood clots through. Do you know when else your cervix dilates, Max?”

Max doesn’t look like he knows anything about cervixes, Max looks like he’s going to piss himself.

“When you have a _baby_ ,” Louis snaps, blue eyes blazing. “So essentially, you’re going through the equivalent of a pregnancy. Every month. That’s twelve mini pregnancies a year. You think you could do that, Max? Probably not, considering you _cried_ when Stan beat you at football last week.”

There’s laughter from the crowd that’s gathered, and Max has gone bright red. Harry doesn’t feel very sorry for him; he wasn’t the nicest when Harry came out.

Louis is looking triumphant, hands on her hips like a victorious warrior queen. Zayn steps up next to her, cocking her head to one side. “Fuck off, Max.”

Max throws the middle finger at them, but he turns tail. Louis cackles, slapping Zayn a high five. Her face falls when she sees Harry, forehead pinching in concern. “Harry, don’t listen to him. He’s a twat.”

“He’s a twat,” Harry agrees, “but his precognition is on point.”

Louis takes a second to get it, but then her face clouds with understanding. “Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”

 _Sweetie_. Harry has a strange urge to curl up in Louis’ arms, tuck her face into the hollow of her neck. “I’m okay. Just feels like my abdomen is having a boxing match.”

“Ugh, and we have double psychology,” Louis moans, pulling a face. “I’ll let you copy my answers in the test if you want. Though that should probably be a last resort. I suck at psychology.

“Thanks,” Harry laughs, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Where’s Liam?” Zayn asks casually. Louis smirks at her, then smirks at Harry.

“At the dentist,” Harry shrugs, keeping her tone carefully neutral. “She should be back by break.”

Harry pretends not to see Zayn’s face light up, and Louis gives her a surreptitious fist bump.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis does let her copy her answers in psychology. Half of them are wrong, but Harry doesn’t say anything. Ashton looks bemused when Louis slips into the spare seat to Harry’s left, but Louis just raises her eyebrows at him.

“You feeling better?” Louis asks when the test is over. Mr Cardle begins to collect their test papers, and Harry stretches out in her chair.

“A bit,” Harry says slowly. She’s still getting stomach pains, but Zayn’s ibuprofen has kicked in. “Thanks for the whole Max thing.”

“Max’s a dick,” Louis snorts, “I remember when I started the football team. He tried to sneak into the changing rooms. It didn’t go well. If you think Zayn is deadly now, you should see her in a sports bra.”

“I would probably appreciate it,” Harry smirks, cracking up when Louis chokes. “But I think Liam would appreciate it more.”

Louis rolls her eyes. “Ugh, their sex eyes are driving me up the wall. Is Payne going to do anything about it? I know Zayn won’t.”

“Well, Liam’s not going to,” Harry sighs, tapping her fingers on the desk. “You have to give her handwritten instructions. Plus, Zayn’s like, intimidating.”

“She’s intimidating if you haven’t seen her drool in her sleep,” Louis smirks, “though, then again, that’s probably what Liam is aiming for. We could get them together at Stan’s party.”

Harry blinks. “What party?”

“Stan’s having a Halloween party,” Louis grins. Her whole face changes when she’s excited, her eyes flashing sea blue. “We’re all going to the corn maze before, it’s going to be sick. You and Liam should come.”

“Okay.” Harry swallows, trying to hide to hide the happiness dancing through her rib cage. “Cool. What are you going as?”

“You’ll have to guess,” Louis laughs. “Make sure Liam comes as something good. Oh my god, we should somehow make them have matching costumes. Niall can help us, she’s obsessed with those two.”

“Her and Josh must have an unique relationship,” Harry teases, and Louis cracks up, throwing her head back.

“No, she’s just obsessed with happy endings,” Louis babbles, laughter making her trip over the words. “Seriously, she’s like an Irish cupid, she’s even worse - “

Louis cuts off quickly, eyelashes fluttering in panic. Harry frowns at her, confused. “Louis - “

“So what are you going as?” Louis asks determinedly, face shutting off like a window that’s been slammed. “I saw this awesome Hulk costume.”

“I’m not being the Hulk!”

It quickly dissolves into Louis arguing why Harry would look good painted green, but Harry can’t quell the itching under her skin. Either Louis’ hiding something, or she’s just weirder than Harry thought.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry’s got to admit, even though it would practically be incest, she would totally sleep with Liam in that costume. Harry tells Liam this, and Liam wrinkles her nose and sticks her tongue out at her. Harry has no idea why everyone thinks Liam is the nice one.

“You sure this is okay, though?” Liam twirls nervously, tugging at her shirt.

She’d gone as Batman in the end, borrowing Harry’s leather leggings and a black shirt with the famous yellow logo, her leather jacket to finish it off. Harry has straightened her hair, so it’s long and silky down Liam’s back, hazel eyes blinking behind her bat mask.

“You look great,” Harry reassures her, adjusting her own costume. “Okay, what about me?”

She’d gone as a kitten in the end, with fluffy black cat ears. Her favourite black peplum dress clings to her hips, and she found a cute choker online. There’s a leather jacket with a fluffy hood as well, and she’s left her hair down so it tumbles across her back.

“You look gorgeous,” Liam smiles, arranging her hair so a curl lays over her shoulder. “I like your cat ears.”

“Pet me,” Harry murmurs, tossing her hair back, and Liam shoves her away, laughing. “Heyy, that was a good one.”

“Are you going to use it on Louis?” Liam says archly, and Harry sighs. “You two are getting close, don’t pretend you’re not. I heard she stood up to Max for you. And she walked you home from footie practice the other night.”

She had. It was Ruth’s birthday, so Liam had missed practice. Louis had walked Harry back to her house, crisp autumn air pinching their cheeks, laughter turning the breath into little clouds. There had been a collage of fallen leaves along the road, and Louis had teased Harry about her abominable goalkeeping because Jesy had been away.

It was nice, which always seems an inadequate word, but Harry hadn’t _felt_ inadequate and that was what mattered.

“So, is she out or not?” Liam asks, perching on Harry’s bed. She’s runs a hand over Harry’s soft duvet.

“I don’t know,” Harry says uncomfortably, her happy floaty feeling replaced by a queasiness in her stomach. “It’s - she’s weird, Liam.”

It comes out so petulantly they both laugh. “I’m serious!” Harry giggles, throwing herself down next to Liam. “She always says things then cuts off suddenly. And she remembered Gemma dyed her hair - “

“Yeah, because that’s so weird,” Liam scoffs, “she’s a proper psycho, you better look out for that one, Haz.”

“Heyy,” Harry scowls, poking Liam in the side. “Stop being mean. What about you, are you going to finally get together with Zayn? Do you need tips, I could tell you some of my chat up lines - “

“ _No_ ,” Liam groans, “no, I have heard your chat up lines, that is never happening.”

“Suit yourself,” Harry huffs, crossing her arms, “see if I save you in the maze of doom tonight.”

“Do you think this will be warm enough?” Liam asks seriously, and Harry laughs so hard she pulls something.

Louis is clearly out to kill her.

Harry’s heart palpitations are at a seriously dangerous level, because Louis is dressed in black skin-tight _leather_. Harry has had dreams like this, and they all ended in sex, but Liam would seriously reprimand her if she tackled Louis to the ground right now, so she tries to reign it in.

It’s quite difficult, so Harry just makes the frog face for a bit, then stares at Niall’s costume. It’s not even a costume; Niall is wearing an Eagles shirt, a tiara, and holding a pumpkin shaped candy basket.

Zayn is dressed as what Harry thinks is a clown, but probably has some sentimental, transcendent, comic book meaning. Her long hair is tied in messy bunches and her face paint is awesome; a white star around each eye that joins to make a mask, one single black teardrop from her right eye. She looks eerie but beautiful.

Liam breathes something that sounds like ‘Harlequin’, so Harry was right with her first presumption.

“Harry, you look awesome,” Louis grins, reaching out and flicking the fur of Harry’s jacket. “Lottie has a choker like this, only it’s spiky.”

Harry hesitates, then says, “I didn’t go for a spiky one, I didn’t want to look like a cat - cus.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Liam complains. Niall bursts into laughter, Louis shaking her head but grinning all the same.

“I have more,” Harry says happily, “Liam, did you hear about the pussy - “

“I do not want to hear about anyone’s pussy,” Niall shouts, slapping a hand on Harry’s mouth. “There will be no speaking of pussy. The only pussy tonight is the person who’s too scared to go into the corn maze.”

Harry licks her hand, but Niall just wipes it on Louis’ cat suit when she isn’t looking. “Come on,” Louis beams, “Niall, you’re the first one who’s going to be crying in terror, don’t deny it.”

Niall and Louis bicker the whole way to the corn maze, Harry walking in step with them. Every so often Louis’ hand bumps Harry’s, and Harry fights back the shiver that threatens to rock through her. Louis shoots her a curious glance, azure eyes narrowing in amusement, and Harry clears her throat and looks away.

The corn maze is exactly what it sounds like, a huge maze of corn that the local garden centre has let grow really tall. It’s already dark, blackness covering the sky like a blanket. The only lights are the glowing grins of pumpkins.

“This looks scary,” Harry mumbles, and Louis places a hand on her arm, squeezing gently.

“We can go round together,” Louis smiles, and Harry immediately feels ten times better. “Hey, Natalie.”

Natalie’s the nice girl who takes their tickets for the maze. Harry thinks she’s supposed to be Katniss, because her long hair is braided to one side. “Hey, Louis,” she smiles, “no jumping out at people, okay, we have actors to do that.”

“You jump out at people?” Harry asks, raising one eyebrow.

Natalie rolls her eyes. “Last year I had to kick them out, Niall made a guy pee his pants. He was like, six foot but Niall jumped out and screamed in his face. Then when he ran away, Louis jumped out of the corn in a slasher mask. I have never seen a grown man run so fast.”

“See, this is why I don’t go places with you people,” Zayn mumbles, and Harry cracks up. Louis just looks vaguely smug, and Niall looks completely unashamed, as per usual.

Louis shakes her head, white teeth glinting in the dark. “We should split up, it’ll be more fun.”

Harry makes to trail over to Liam, but Louis grabs her hand. Harry startles, but Louis just smiles shyly, cheeks flushing baby pink. Harry slowly tightens her fingers, Louis’ hand small and warm in hers, and Louis beams so hard Harry’s chest squeezes.

Zayn runs her eyes over them in an assessing manner, then slowly closes her fingers around Liam’s wrist.

“Right, fuck this,” Niall announces loudly, making them all jump, “I didn’t know this was bloody couples retreat, I’ll just go die alone in the corn maze.”

“Sorry,” Harry says weakly, but Niall just flips them off, smiling all the while, heading through the entrance. Zayn shrugs, then tugs Liam after her, throwing a smirk over her shoulder.

It’s just them, and Harry feels shy and awkward again, like a little girl at her first day of school, raw and exposed. She’s probably blushing, but Louis doesn’t let go of her hand, so she can’t be fucking this up too badly. Whatever this is.

“Come on then,” Louis urges softly, “lead the way, curly.”

The maze isn’t too bad at first. It’s pitch black, Harry can barely see five metres in front of her, the corn rustling spookily. The screams and laughs of the other people litter the air, and Harry can distinctly hear Niall’s rough accent shouting about ‘the craic.’

“Louis, do you want to hear a joke?”

Louis gives her a lopsided smile. “Probably not, but go for it.”

Harry clears her throat. “Why didn’t the skeleton go to party? Because he had - “

“ - no body to go with,” Louis finishes, groaning. “Harry, that was terrible, my little sisters know that one.”

“Okay, how about another one?” Harry continues stubbornly, “what do you call a fat pumpkin?”

Louis cocks her head to one side, fluttering her eyelashes, and Harry’s stomach swoops. She hopes her hand isn’t sweaty in Louis’. “I don’t know, Harry, what do you call a fat pumpkin?”

“A plumpkin,” Harry beams, and Louis actually laughs this time, cute giggles slipping from her mouth.

“That was so dumb,” Louis giggles, but Harry counts it as a win. “That was phenomenally bad, Haz. Did you google Halloween jokes?”

“Of course not,” Harry says primly, “that would be ridiculous.” She pauses. “I may possibly have read 100 seasonal jokes for all occasions.”

Louis laughs so hard her eyes start to water, doubling over. “That is so lame,” Louis cackles, shaking her head. “I really hope that isn’t your pick up tactic, mate, because those were awful.”

“Only for the girls I really like,” Harry murmurs, and Louis freezes, blue eyes meeting hers, swimming in uncertainty.

The moment feels charged, electric, like every single cell in Harry’s body has lighted up and is glowing beneath her skin. She’s acutely aware of Louis’ fingers, curled tightly around her own. They’re facing each other, and Harry can see the quickening rise and fall of Louis’ chest.

Louis swallows, and closes the distance between them, close enough Harry can see the flecks of gold in her eyes. “Harry - “

There’s a loud snap, and Harry jumps about mile, heart thumping. Louis swears loudly, grabbing Harry and steadying her when she almost topples over. “It’s okay, it’s just - “

There’s another crack, then Harry hears something rustle behind, movement from the corner of her eye. “Louis,” she begins hesitantly, fear spiking in her gut. “Did you hear that?”

“Don’t say that,” Louis orders, “that’s what people say in movies, right before the people in movies _die_.”

There’s a definite movement in front of them, the corn to their left shifting ominously. Harry realises it’s gone deathly silent, the sudden quiet jarring. “Louis - “

Louis moves closer to Harry, fallen corn crunching under her feet. It cracks like a gunshot through the night, and Louis presses against Harry, a warm line against her side. “Oh my god, we’re going to die.”

“Don’t say that!” Harry hisses, smacking Louis in the arm. “We’re not - “

Someone jumps out of the corn to Harry’s left, and screams in her face.

Harry screams. Louis screams. The person in the mask screams. Everyone is screaming. Louis grabs Harry’s arm and jerks her back, but she trips and falls on her arse. “Get up!” Louis screams, “we’re going to die -”

“You idiot,” the person in the masks says, muffled but distinctly Irish. Harry freezes. The person pulls the clown mask off -- and _Jesus_ , that’s freaky -- to reveal a hysterical Niall.

“You bitch,” Louis shouts, punching Niall in the stomach. Harry is just trying to not have an asthma attack. Her heart feels like it’s beating out of her chest. “What the fuck, you weren’t even wearing a mask!”

“I hid it under my shirt,” Niall gasps, “your _face_ , Tommo.”

Harry gets up off the floor, dusting herself off. She can kind of see the funny side now, even though she’s pretty sure she had a mini heart attack. “Niall! I can’t believe you did that!”

“Sorry,” Niall wheezes, wiping her eye. “I was aiming for the Tommo, you were more collateral damage.”

“It was a good prank,” Harry shrugs, then holds her hands up when Louis’ glare burns a hole in her head. “What, it was _funny_.”

“Don’t take her side,” Louis scowls. Something about her pout makes Harry see the funny side, so by the time Zayn and Liam round the corner, Harry and Niall are in hysterics while Louis shouts at them and stamps her feet.

“Are you okay? I heard screaming?” Liam asks anxiously, which only sets Niall and Harry off again. Harry notes Zayn is wearing Liam’s leather jacket, so she gives herself a fist bump.

“I pranked Louis,” Niall says proudly, and Zayn laughs out loud, breaking away from Liam and wrapping Niall in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” Zayn coos, ruffling Niall’s hair, smirking at Louis. “Lou, stop pouting.”

“Shut up,” Louis grumbles, “Harry was scared too.”

“That is true,” Harry shrugs, “I almost peed myself.”

“See,” Zayn smirks, gesturing to Harry, “Harry hasn’t dissolved into a giant ball of rage.”

“I might. You never know, it could send me off the edge. Be a proper Hulk.”

“Nah, you’re a kitten.” Louis’ voice is fond, one hand reaching out and ruffling her hair. Her fingers catch on Harry’s curls, tugging gently, and Harry resists the urge to nudge into her hand. “You’d put Bruce Banner to shame.”

“Party time!” Niall whoops, shrugging out of Zayn’s hug, “Z, go hug your girlfriend. Lou, call Stan and tell him the motherfucking clique are on the way.”

“I am categorically not telling him that,” Louis says flatly, and Harry giggles. “First we have to get out of here, though.”

“Um, I brought a map,” Liam mumbles. She looks at Louis nervously, but Louis grins in amusement, smacking her on the arm and demanding she show her the way.

Liam and Louis take the lead, Liam looking slightly nervous, and Harry can’t stop beaming. Niall slings an arm around Harry’s shoulder, nicking her cat ears and putting them on, like a fluffy crown on her blond head.

“So, have you and Liam hooked up yet?” Harry asks casually, silently laughing when panic flashes across Zayn’s face like lightning.

“Have you and Louis?” Zayn retorts, jutting out her chin, and Harry laughs.

“I feel like this is when I’m supposed to give you the best friend speech,” Harry frowns, pulling her jacket closer around her. “Liam’s probably scarier than me, though, she does kickboxing and everything. But she’s gone through a lot shit. A lot of stupid shit, so if you make that worse, if you do that to her, I won’t forgive you.”

Harry’s deadly serious. She knows she’s pretty laid back most of the time, and she takes too long to say things, and she kind of rambles, but she’s fiercely protective. Loves too hard and cares too much, and she won’t let Liam be hurt in any way.

“Okay,” Zayn says seriously, eyes a deep amber, “I won’t hurt her. I promise.”

Harry grins, dropping her sombre façade. “Okay, let’s hug it out.”

“What?” Zayn laughs, but she squeezes Harry back all the same. Zayn is bony, slim with small hips, but she hugs Harry back hard and laughs softly into her neck. “Do I have to give you the same warning for Louis?”

“We’re not together,” Harry says honestly, “I don’t know what we are.”

“A bunch of eejits,” Niall mumbles, smirking when Harry jumps. “You four suck, it’s like fucking third wheeling. _Fifth_ wheeling. Ugh, that’s even more depressing.”

They’re out of the maze now, heading for Stan’s house. Liam’s navigation skills are good, Harry has to admit. It’s a weird transition from the complete darkness and earthy smell of the maze, to lit streets, parked cars and glowing street lights. Harry shivers; that maze was really creepy.

“Party!” Niall shrieks when Stan’s house comes into view, grabbing both Harry and Zayn’s hands and tugging them forward. Harry whoops as well, and Zayn just shakes her head, Niall dragging them forward and pulling them forwards.

“Last one there’s a cunt,” Niall shouts, voice lovely and loud in the street filled with _family_ _houses_ , thank you very much, Niall. They barrel past Liam and Louis, who exchange glances then shrug, joining in.

They definitely look like idiots, five girls running across the street. Liam’s babbling something about traffic safety, and Niall’s cackling at the front, Louis plastered to her side and tripping Zayn up. It’s silly, but Harry feels heady, dizzy exhilaration surging through her chest, lighting her veins and making her laugh out loud. Louis grins at her, eyes piercingly sapphire, and it’s like for a moment they have a connection, as if a channel has opened between them, electric, pulsing, trading energy and happiness back and forth.

“Fuck, stop,” Niall shouts, as Harry’s feet hit pavement. Their momentum carries through, surplus vitality, and they end up crashing into each other. Louis’ elbow hits Harry in the sternum, and she elbows Zayn in the head.

“I hate you all,” Liam says, muffled, then spits some of Niall’s hair out of her mouth.

Thankfully, the door opens at that point, an explosion of music flooding out. Stan Lucas stands in the doorway, arms crossed.

“What are you doing?” he asks slowly, and Harry bites her lip. They probably look really weird right now, Batman, a clown, an Eagles fan, a cat and the Black Widow, out of breath and panting.

“Hey, Stanley,” Louis greets brightly, barrelling forward and smacking a messy kiss on Stan’s cheek. Harry is not jealous, she is _not_. “Don’t ask Niall about the maze, she’s lying, Zayn and Liam are banging, Harry’s the one in the cat ears, oh wait - Niall's wearing them now, where’s the booze?”

Louis’ eyes are sparkling, a delicious looking smirk on her red mouth, and Harry wants to kiss her so bad it hurts.

Booze is probably the best option.

Louis disappears with Stan, Liam and Zayn slipping away into the crowd like smoke. Harry latches onto Niall and grabs a drink; Niall is funny and laid back, and they end up grinding on each other. The sexual implications lost with the way they can’t stop laughing into each other’s shoulders.

“Why aren’t ya grinding with Louis?” Niall shouts over the music. “Not that I don't appreciate the extra attention, Styles.”

Harry slaps her bum for that. Niall just says, “Give it to me harder,” in a stupidly growly voice, and Harry snorts. “Seriously though, why aren’t you with her?”

“I don’t know where she is,” Harry replies, trying to pass for breezy, but probably failing miserably. “She’s with Stan or one of her other friends.”

“You’re her friend,” Niall retorts, jabbing Harry in the boob with one finger, ignoring Harry’s mewl of pain. “You’re better than a friend, because you can do disturbing, sexy things together, that I never ever want to hear about.”

“It’s not like that,” Harry protests, feeling the usual hurricane of confusion, frustration, _longing_ batter against her ribs. “I told you, we’re not together.”

Niall cocks an eyebrow. “So you haven’t had sex.”

“What constitutes sex?” Harry says slowly, and Niall actually face palms. Harry didn’t know that was a thing people really did. “Look, why are you talking to me? I don't want to think she has feelings she doesn't. “

“Jesus Christ, you hold hands all the time! You know who else does that? Me and Josh. Because we’re in a relationship. It definitely falls under the rules of romantically interested. You two are getting right on my tits - shite, Louis’ coming over.”

Harry turns to see Louis standing behind her. She’s trembling a little, her hands clasped, a juxtaposition to her bright red wig and her sleek cat suit. She smiles, gaze stuttering before she meets Harry’s eyes.

“Hey,” she whispers, and Harry can physically feel herself dimple.

“Hi,” she breathes, and Niall snorts behind them.

“You two are ridiculous, I’m going to see Josh. At least one of us should get off tonight,” Niall shouts over her shoulder, shaking her head as she goes.

Harry rolls her eyes. “She’s a polite and delicate young lady and you only wish you had her eloquence.”

“She’s been beaten by Liam and Zayn at any rate,” Louis shrugs, “that’s why I came over. Liam’s going to crash at Zayn’s, so I’m your official escort for the night.” She clarifies when Harry waggles her eyebrows. “To walk you _home_ , get your mind out of the gutter, Styles.”

“Ask me nicely then,” Harry orders, biting her lip. Louis’ eyes track the movement, Harry’s definitely not imagining it. Something inside her stirs, takes notice and sits up, Niall’s words buzzing in her mind.

Louis sighs, but holds out her hand. Harry takes it gently, trying not to laugh at Louis’ deadpan face. “Harriet Styles - “

“My name’s not Harriet.”

“Good, that’s an awful name,” Louis says frankly, and Harry giggles. “Harry not Harriet Styles, would you do me the honour of letting me walk you to your humble abode?”

“Why, Lady Tomlinson, I would be honoured,” Harry replies, then they both lose it, sniggering like little kids at the back of a class.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So, this is me,” Harry reveals quietly, stopping on her front step.

Everything is muted, the moon softly glowing above them, the sky streaked with indigo and navy. She leans against her door, pressing against the hardwood. She doesn’t want to say goodbye yet.

“Your house is nice,” Louis compliments shyly, “well, I mean, the outside of it. The outside of it is nice. The bits I can see. You know. Because it’s like, three in the morning.”

“Did you, um,” Harry swallows, her throat feeling dry. “Do you want to come in for a bit?”

Harry expects Louis to make some joke, crack a quip about how that would be a chat up line in _Desperate Housewives_ , but she just nods, following Harry through the door with light feet. It’s tangible, whatever’s between them, and it only glows brighter in the muted light and soft silence.

“My mum and Robin will be asleep,” Harry whispers, flicking the light on in the kitchen, bathing the room in a soft glow. “So we have to be quiet. Do you want a drink?”

She turns to Louis, one hand on the fridge handle, then stops. Louis’ taken off her red wig, her soft brown hair spilling out. She combs her hands through her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. She looks tired, young and Harry just - stares.

Louis looks up when she realises Harry’s stopped talking. Harry doesn’t know what she sees in her eyes but Louis - crumbles, emotions and emotions flashing through her eyes, her shoulders dropping, her whole face softening.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, and then she crosses the room and kisses her.

The kiss is soft, gentle, everything their first one wasn’t. Louis is unhurried, like she has all the time in the world. She does something with her tongue that makes Harry weak, licking into her mouth like she wants to taste every part of her. Harry kisses her back after a few seconds, and Louis tastes like her cherry lip gloss, sweet and insatiable.

Louis’ hand presses to her hips, tentative, careful, like Harry is the most precious thing in the world. Louis runs one thumb over her hip, Harry juddering at the skin on skin contact. Harry slowly cups Louis’ face, tracing her cheekbones, and Louis whines, pushing her body against Harry’s.

“You call that just kissing?”

What is it with people interrupting her when things are just getting good? Harry whines mentally, then reluctantly opens her eyes. The last person she expects to see is Gemma, newly brunette and smirking, and so familiar Harry’s bones ache.

“Gemma!” Harry beams, then drastically lowers her tone at Gemma’s shushing. “I didn’t know you were back!”

“I came back for autumn break,” Gemma grins, and Harry hasn’t seen that smile in ages. “I see you didn’t pine for me too much. I guess you had other -- _friends_ \-- to keep you company.”

“Shut up,” Harry moans, falling into their easy routine, then realises Louis hasn’t said anything this whole time.

Louis looks as though she’s been punched in the stomach; her whole face is drained of colour, her bruised lips standing out stark red. She’s trembling, bitten nails digging into her clenched fist.

“This is Louis,” Harry announces slowly, heart thumping madly in her chest. _Please don’t run. Please don’t run. Please don’t run_.

“Louis,” Gemma repeats, and Harry can practically see the protective big sister button being switched on. “Do you normally wear cat suits?”

Louis relaxes minutely, but her shoulders are still a straight, rigid line. “Only on weekends,” she says finally, and her voice barely tremors. “Harry, I better go.”

Louis doesn’t look at her, and Harry's lungs fluttering wildly to find some air. “You forgot your wig,” Harry tells her numbly, the words hollow.

Something crosses Louis’ face, and her eyes flash before she storms across the kitchen, grabbing her wig from Harry. As Harry lets go, Louis presses one hand to her shoulder, hot as a brand, and kisses her on the corner of the mouth.

Then she turns, as if she hasn’t just shattered Harry’s world, hasn’t left a burning kiss on Harry’s lips, hasn’t left Harry more turned on than should be decently possible, and saunters away in her leather cat suit.

You could hear a pin drop in the kitchen.

“So,” Gemma says finally, “anything you want to tell me?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

She doesn’t end up chatting to Gemma that night, because Harry is knackered, mentally and emotionally and every other way, and because Gemma smacks her around the head, hugs her, then says it’s fucking three in the morning and everyone should be asleep.

She does wake her up nice and early next morning -- fucking seven am -- by jumping on Harry’s bed and trying to smother her with a pillow.

Harry has truly missed such sisterly affection.

(The sad thing is, she really has.)

“Come on,” Gemma grins, shoving Harry over so she can sit back against the headrest. She’s wearing a white jumper, smelling like their lemon shower gel, and Harry feels a huge rush of fondness. “Spill every sordid lesbian detail. I’m assuming that was running girl, last night?”

 _Running_ _girl_. Harry really loves Gemma. “Yep, that’s her.”

“So you’re,” Gemma pauses, raising one eyebrow. It’s like living with Zayn. “Together. Not together. Secretly married. A delightful teenage ball of angst and confusion.”

“No, possibly, you’re the bridesmaid, and yes, yes, yes,” Harry sighs, flopping back down on her pillow. “She said sorry for the running away thing.”

“Hm,” Gemma hums, laying back too. “Did she mean it? Was it first grade grovelling?”

Harry thinks back to it, remembering Louis’ pale face, her babble of words. It seems a long time ago. “She let me use her staff discount at _Toys_ _R_ _Us_.”

Gemma cocks her head to one side. “Fair enough. So why isn’t she out? I mean she seems open enough with you, but I’m guessing she’s not that share and care with everyone.”

“I think Zayn and Niall know,” Harry says thoughtfully, “but she hasn’t told anyone at school, I don’t think. Every time we’ve held hands - “

“Get in,” Gemma giggles, and Harry elbows her in the ribs.

“Anyway, every time she hugs me, or holds hands, it’s when Niall and Zayn are around. Where there’s no one else to see. Or in a corn maze.”

“Don’t even want to know,” Gemma rumbles, rolling her eyes. Gemma and Zayn are definitely competitors for who rolls their eyes the most - Gemma might just have the lead. “Maybe her family is really homophobic?”

Harry hadn’t thought of that. “Do you think so? That could be why she’s okay with Zayn and Niall, but not with herself being gay.”

“Some people think their children should believe what they do,” Gemma says quietly, “and I think that affects people for a long time.”

They’re both quiet for a bit, Gemma’s soft hair brushing Harry’s cheek, her eyes heavy with sleep. Gemma coughs. “Wait, Zayn and Niall are lesbians too? Do you just flip everyone around you?”

“Shut up,” Harry cackles, shoving Gemma in the shoulder. “Niall’s bi-sexual, Zayn is - actually, I don’t know what Zayn is. She dated Perrie, and she’s dating Liam, so maybe it’s just a blond thing, though Liam’s not really blond - “

“Liam likes girls now?” Gemma shouts, hitting Harry in the side with a pillow. “Good news, Haz, if Louis breaks your heart, Cheshire clearly has an abundance of lesbians. You’ll find someone who likes pus - “

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Harry threatens, “don’t you dare, you’re as bad as Niall.”

Gemma just laughs at her, ruffling her hair and smacking a kiss to her forehead. “I think your phone is going off by the way.”

Harry rolls over, grabbing her phone. It says unknown number, and Harry fights the little bursts of hope exploding in her bloodstream. She slides the lock screen open and clicks on the message.

_um hey this is louis_

“Oh my god, Louis texted me,” Harry gasps, then winces when she sounds like a tween movie.

“You sound like a tween movie,” Gemma confirms for her.

**hi louis!**

God, she is a twat.

“You’re a twat.”

“Not helping, Gemma!”

_hi harry! glad to see you don’t hate me…_

**well I’d say it was a quick trot, not a run this time**

Gemma high fives her. “That was good, that was funny.”

_yeah, i guess. look, do you want to come round today? I’m on babysitting duty and i have it on good info you’re a born child wrangler_

“Shit,” Harry swears, and drops the phone down the side of the bed. It takes her and Gemma a whole minute to find it, and by that time Louis’ sent two more messages

_but you don’t have to!_

_also i got your number from z i think she and liam had sex cause she was v pissy when i kept spamming her_

**i would love to come :) text me the address! haha i’ll have 2 text liam, it can be a 2 front war**

Louis sends her the address back and Harry squeals, holding the phone so hard she’s scared it’ll crack.

“You are so lame,” Gemma drawls, but she’s smiling all the same. Harry punches her in the arm, which does nothing, and Gemma shoves off the bed, then pretends it was Harry when their mum shouts at them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The door of the Tomlinson’s is opened to a miniature blond version of Louis Tomlinson.

Harry comes to the rather redundant conclusion she is screwed.

“Hi,” the little girl says brightly, scrubbing her hands over her eyes, and Harry feels her heart melt. “My name is Daisy, I have four sisters but only one of them looks just like me!”

Harry crouches down, grinning as the girl’s bright eyes light up, exactly like Louis’. “Hi, Daisy. My name’s Harry. I have one sister, but she doesn’t look that much like me. She has blue hair.”

Daisy’s eyes widen. “Blue?”

“Well, it’s brown now. But it was blue once. And blond. She likes dying her hair.”

“Lottie dyes her hair,” Daisy whispers, “but don’t tell her I said that, she pretends it always been that colour.”

“Daisy?” Louis shouts from the house, “Fizzy, why did you let her out, she’s being a pain - “

“I’m not being a pain,” Daisy pouts, with all the indignity a five year old can manage. “Harry, tell her.”

Louis rolls her eyes, looking slightly flustered and embarrassed, her hair piled up in a messy bun. “Sorry, Harry, welcome to the house of hell and tiny children.”

“I’m telling mum you said that,” Daisy scowls, “I’m going to tell her and then you’ll get in big trouble.”

“Daisy, you’re five,” Louis sighs, “you’ll have forgotten this in the next five minutes. And seeing as mum isn’t back till dinner time, I’ll take my chances. Come in, Harry.”

Harry walks in, shucking her shoes off at the door. Louis’ house is big but cosy, photos of the girls on the walls, soft purple carpets, a large, open kitchen Harry can see. She follows Louis into the kitchen, where the fridge is covered in colourful magnets and scribbled stick figures.

“It’s a bit of a mess,” Louis says sheepishly, grabbing a loaf of bread and shoving it in the bread bin. “Sorry, Dan and mum are out for the day, it’s their anniversary so they’ve gone up to London.”

“That’s cute,” Harry grins, running a hand over the smooth, wooden table. “What did you get them?”

Louis smirks. “Well, that’s sort of why I called you. The girls are desperate to make some cookies or shit for them, so I promised them I knew a professional baker?”

“If you call professional working in a tiny bakery with old ladies,” Harry shrugs, silently pleased at the compliment. “I’m your girl.”

“I wish,” Louis mutters, and Harry’s frozen, replaying that in her mind as she calls the twins into the kitchen. Another girl slopes in, same blue eyes but with Louis’ colour hair. She blinks at Harry, pulling her jumper sleeves over her hands.

“Who’s this?” the girl asks suspiciously. “Why are you cooking? Mum said you had to look after us, this doesn’t fill that column, burning the house down isn’t good care.”

“This delightful child is Felicity,” Louis huffs, ruffling her sister’s hair while she squeals and bats Louis’ hands away. “But everyone calls her Fizzy. And it’s not like I’m unsupervised, Harry’s helping out.”

“Who’s Harry?” Fizzy narrows her eyes. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No,” Louis and Harry shout, the same time as Daisy shouts, “Yes!”

“Daisy!” Louis scowls, as Fizzy crosses her arms and smiles in a satisfied way. “Harry’s not my girlfriend.”

“Even the five year old knows,” Fizzy cackles, smiling widely at Harry. Ironically, she seems warmer towards Harry when she thinks she’s Louis’ girlfriend. “Way to hide a secret, Lou.”

“Harry is your girlfriend,” Daisy frowns, jutting out her bottom lip. She elbows Phoebe. “Isn’t she?”

“She’s a girl, and she’s your friend,” Phoebe deducts, “so. She’s your girlfriend.”

“Who wants to make biscuits?” Louis says loudly, clapping her hands. She rolls her eyes when all three girls shake their heads. “Fine, who wants Harry to make biscuits?”

It’s fun cooking with the girls. Harry loves kids, but only has Gemma, so it’s nice to be around all Louis' sisters. The kitchen is warm, light streaming through windows. Louis switches her iPod on, so they all dance around to Beyonce and Rihanna, Harry cracking up when Louis scrambles to switch the song when _Partition_ comes on.

“They don’t need to start their sex education this young,” Louis mutters, shoving Harry in the side when she keeps laughing. Louis’ hand leaves a warm, glowing handprint on her side.

“I don’t know, we could change the lyrics,” Harry says, “as least it’s not _Blow_.”

“Yeah, because that’s so relevant to our particular tastes,” Louis tosses back, and Harry laughs so hard she drops the flour on the floor.

“Harry, can we ice the biscuits?” Daisy pleads, flour in her hair and smudged on her cheeks. “We could make them into heart shapes!”

“That sounds great, sweetie,” Harry smiles, “Lou, do you have any icing? Or colouring?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Louis grumbles, but she patters over to the cupboards. She leans up, giving Harry a great view of her arse. She can’t quite reach, standing on her tip toes, which makes Harry’s heart clench.

“This good enough?” Louis asks petulantly, shoving a multitude of jars in Harry’s hands. Harry grabs them all, and Louis looks down, eyes widening. “Jesus, your hands - “

“Yes?” Harry says sweetly, beaming as Louis looks up, flustered. “Feel free to carry on.”

“Shush,” Louis hisses, and Harry just cackles, hope jumping in her chest. They haven’t talked about the kiss, but Louis had practically invited her to meet the family. She feels a little smug she can get Louis a little riled up; Harry doubts the reason she was looking at her hands because Louis has a thing about _dirt_.

In the end, the biscuits look like an explosion in a smarties factory. They’d found some heart shaped cutters, and the girls had iced them in red, then traced white icing around the corners. Fizzy had opted to write their parents names on hers, but Daisy had gone for more is less. Her cookies are so covered in sweets you can't see the biscuit, but as least she likes it.

“Harry, do you like mine?” Phoebe asks quietly, tugging Harry’s sleeve. Phoebe seems to be the shyer twin, so Harry crouches down beside her. She can feel Louis’ careful eyes running over them, hairs standing up on the back of her arm.

“They’re really good,” Harry praises. Phoebe has made a wonky love heart out of silver balls, a circle more than anything, but she looks so, so proud. Harry gives her an impromptu hug. “I love them.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Phoebe mumbles, one thumb in her mouth, and her little hand grasps Harry’s shirt.

“Ugh, what are you doing?” says another girl, stepping into the kitchen. Harry guesses this must be Lottie, the oldest of Louis’ sisters. She’s pretty, with long blond hair. She’s scrubbing her eyes with her fists, wrapped up in a fluffy dressing gown.

“Hey, Lotts,” Louis smiles, “Daisy, Fizzy, don’t eat them, they’re for later. Phoebe, go grab a film to put on now her highness is awake.”

“ _Frozen_!” Phoebe squeals happily, resulting in two cheers (Harry and Daisy), and three groans (Lottie, Louis and Fizzy).

“Why did you let her choose?” Lottie moans, swinging open the fridge. She grabs the milk carton, pouring herself a cup, then seems to realise Harry’s in the kitchen. “Hi, Harry.”

“How do you know she’s Harry?” Louis demands, sweeping all the cooking mess to one side. Harry rolls her eyes and begins to fill the sink up with hot, soapy water. She washes the cooking stuff up while Louis and Lottie bicker, the hot water numbing her hands.

“She’s not Zayn or Niall,” Lottie says in a bored voice, holding up four fingers and ticking them off with each name. “You said Liam was the one who looked like a puppy, and there’s the mysterious curly haired girl you always go on about - “

“She’s joking,” Louis cuts off, glaring Lottie. “Doesn’t listen to anything she says.”

Lottie just sticks her tongue out at Louis, eyes clouded with sleep. She looks young, Harry thinks, a bit like Louis after an especially draining practise. “Do you want me to help make toasties?”

They all put some lunch together, then all the girls squash onto the sofas in the living room. Phoebe and Daisy are already huddled together on the comfy blue sofa in the corner, eyes fixed on the menu screen.

Fizzy’s flopped into the one of the armchairs, texting, but she fist pumps when Louis hands her a plate. “I love it when you look after us, Lou.”

“Look who’s changed her tune,” Louis sniffs, sitting down. Harry sits next to her automatically, thighs brushing, and Lottie takes the seat next to Louis. “Okay, start the torture.”

“Heyy,” Harry whines, nudging Louis with her shoulder. “ _Frozen_ is really good. It’s got singing, and reindeers, and it’s all about sisterhood, and not needing a man - “

“Please tell me you haven’t psychoanalysed _Frozen_ ,” Louis groans, “Haz, it’s a kid’s film. The songs are terrible. Daisy and Phoebe wouldn’t stop singing _Do You Want To Build A Snowman_? If I ever saw a real snowman, I would probably die of a panic attack.”

“But the reindeer, Louis,” Harry giggles, nudging Louis again. “How cute would having a reindeer be?”

Louis arches an eyebrow. “We went to the zoo and saw a reindeer. It did a shit all over my new vans.”

Harry laughs so hard she drops her toastie on the floor. She really needs to stop doing that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The twins have a nap after the film, making Harry tuck them in after reading them a story. Louis pouts at her, which is extremely distracting. “I see who the new favourite is.”

“I respect the magic of _Frozen_ ,” Harry says solemnly, then howls when Louis smacks her with one of Phoebe’s pillows.

Lottie heads to her boyfriend’s house, and Fizzy decides to watch another film, so Louis shyly asks her if she wants to come to her room. Louis shuffles her feet while she does it, pink dusting her cheeks, so lovely in the bright light of the hall that Harry feels like crying for some reason.

 _Please let this work out_ , Harry thinks, watching the lines of Louis’ back as she goes up the stairs, _please let this work out_.

Louis’ room is small and messy, football boots kicked off in one corner, a bra thrown over her desk chair. She has a Man U poster on one wall, and a collage of photos all over the other. Harry wanders over to it, sees Zayn, sees Lottie, what’s probably Louis’ nan, family and friends and relationships pinned down in a pretty frame.

“This is nice.” She keeps her voice low, feeling as though the soft atmosphere deserves hushed tones. Louis’ watching her when she turns around, azure eyes unreadable. Harry wants to tug one of the strings between them, pull it until Louis comes reeling into her arms.

“Mum got it for me,” Louis replies, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Did you, um, want to sit down?”

“Okay,” Harry acquiesces easily, even though she can hear her heartbeat in her ears. She feels as though everything is heightened, sharpened; her feet feel like earthquakes on the plush carpet.

Harry sits on the bed, curling her legs beneath her. Louis hesitates before mimicking her, crossing her legs and placing her hands in her lap. She looks up at Harry through feathery lashes, and Harry’s heart jumps.

“I, um.” Louis swallows, licks her lips. “About last night - I’m sorry I ran away.”

Harry frowns. “I guess Gemma made you jump, I didn’t know she was home, sorry - “

Louis closes her eyes, forehead pinching. “Harry, you have nothing to be sorry about. At all. On the other hand, I’m probably the biggest walking apology ever.” She laughs, but it’s bitter, and Harry grabs her hand, entwines their fingers.

“It’s okay,” Harry reassures her, because Louis looks so pained, fear and frustration written into her skin. “Louis, what’s going on?”

“When Gemma walked in I was so scared,” Louis whispers, the words a punch to Harry’s stomach. “I was so scared, all I could think of was she was going to know. She was going to know I was.” Louis takes a deep, shuddering breath. “That I was _gay_. I thought I was having a fucking panic attack.”

Harry can feel tears pricking at her eyes. Louis’ eyes are wet too, and she brings one fist up to scrub at them. “I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I want to - “ Louis coughs. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to - come out.”

A sob is ripped from Louis’ throat, the sound inhuman, and Harry gathers her up in her arms, pulls her to her. Louis wraps her arms around Harry’s neck and cries quietly, tears smushing against Harry’s cheeks.

“When I was.” Louis hiccups, and Harry’s heart shatters into a million pieces. “When I was ten, I kissed Zayn. And my dad walked in, it was just before the split and he said - he said it was wrong. Disgusting. He said that was the reason they were splitting up.”

Harry feels anger enflame her, fury sparking in her veins and setting her blood on fire. She’s so angry, so furious with this horrible man, someone who would say that to their children, that she wants to punch a wall. She pulls Louis even closer, so the lines of their body merge, Louis in her lap.

“I know it’s bullshit now,” Louis sniffs, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder. “I know it’s fucking crap but, when you’re a kid - I thought he was right. I believed him, it wasn’t until later I found out he never even told mum. He left the next day, and I refused to say goodbye. I haven’t seen him since, neither have the girls. He doesn’t want any contact.”

“I have never wanted to punch anyone more in my life,” Harry growls, and Louis lets out a choked laugh. It turns to a squeak when Harry kisses her.

The kiss is fierce, voracious, Harry worshipping Louis’ lips with her. It feels like there are stars exploding around them, Louis gripping Harry’s hair with trembling hands, Harry licking into Louis’ mouth like she’s trying to chase the taste of her.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry says forcefully, clutching Louis’ forearms. “You are so smart, and funny, and gorgeous, and you’re not the reason your parents broke up. You’re not. I've seen the way your sisters look at you, you're their whole world, Lou. They idolise you.”

“I know,” Louis hiccups, her voice choked. “I know now. I didn’t before, and it - it was like a massive splinter, forever stuck in my heart or some bullshit. And then you hear how all the girls talk at school, and I became football captain - and just. It was easier. Easier to not be.”

Louis exhales shakily, her eyes puffy. “So that’s it, I guess. That’s the big fucking secret. That’s the reason I was too scared to come out. Zayn knows obviously, and we still messed around a bit. It felt like a massive fuck you to my dad, but then Zayn pointed out that probably wasn’t psychologically healthy so. We stopped.”

“Probably for the best,” Harry agrees lightly, and Louis giggles. Harry looks at this beautiful girl in front of her, jumper sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes bruised, lips red from Harry’s kiss, and she feels the broken shards of her heart knit together. “You’re so brave, you know that?”

“It’s not an excuse to be a dick to you.” Louis swallows. “Look, Harry about that - “

“It’s fine,” Harry says, rubbing her hands up and down Louis’ arms. “I think, I think you and me? It’s a long story, yeah? And you just told a fucking massive one - “ Louis’ giggles are the best thing ever. “So, you don’t have to tell me just yet.”

Harry clears her throat, gently tipping up Louis' chin with two fingers. "Besides, people make mistakes. I'm going to judge for the rest of your life, or something. That would be stupid. I care about you and I want to be here for you, and the past is just that - the past. Like I've never said or done something stupid because I was mad or scared or stressed."

Louis nods shakily, then squints at her. "Did you just quote _Frozen?"_

Harry winces. "Possibly."

"Twat," Louis mutters, but she's giggling, throwing her arms around Harry and squeezing her tight. "I care about you too."

"Good," Harry says dumbly, heart swelling with happiness.

“Okay,” Louis looks at Harry with such reverence, like Harry is something unbelievably precious. “I think I’m going to tell my mum later, would you be there?”

“Of course,” Harry breathes, “Louis, are you sure?”

Louis juts her chin, nodding sharply. “I want to. I’m sick of being scared.”

“Okay,” Harry nods, pulling Louis back into a hug. “Okay.”

They stay like that for a moment, quiet, before Louis pulls back. She looks lighter, softer, less like she’s drowning and more like she’s swimming. “Do you, um - want to do stuff?”

“Do stuff?”

“Do the sex,” Louis clarifies, and Harry cracks up. “What!

“Louis, I would be honoured to do the sex with you,” Harry says sincerely, “but like, I’m not a nympho, so? We could like. Cuddle for a bit?”

“Cuddle for a bit,” Louis repeats slowly, “I’m guessing this lack of a sex drive is because I just had a small mental breakdown.”

“Well, you were very attractive with you were doing it,” Harry teases gently, leaning in and kissing Louis on the nose, just because she can. “But essentially yes. We don’t have to do anything right now. I would just feel bad. Like I was taking advantage.”

"So you won't ditch my arse if I don't get you off?" Louis clarifies, and Harry giggles.

"Nope. But I might do if we don't snuggle."

Louis cocks her head to one side. “Can I be big spoon?”

“You’re smaller than me.”

Louis glares at her.

“I like being little spoon anyway,” Harry hums, “I like feeling small and protected.”

Louis snorts, but she pushes Harry under the covers. They arrange themselves so Louis has her arms around Harry, her hands flat against her stomach. Harry’s back is pressed against Louis’ front, her legs curled up beneath her, and she feels small and cherished.

“Hey, Lou?” Harry asks quietly, fitting her hands over Louis’. “Thanks for today. I had a nice time.”

Louis kisses Harry’s shoulder, a ghost of a touch. “It’s not midnight yet, Cinderella, it’s like two in the afternoon.”

“I liked it anyway,” Harry says, snuggling closer to Louis. “Not being funny, but those biscuits were amazing.”

Harry feels Louis’ laugh vibrate through her. “So that’s your winning quality then, your cooking?”

“Nope, my hair.”

Louis laughs again, her breath warm against Harry’s neck. She gently runs a palm up Harry’s shoulder blade, heat rocking through Harry’s stomach. “I am slowly being seduced by your curls.”

“That was the plan,” Harry mutters, and lets herself be soothed to sleep by the sound of Louis’ heartbeat.

 

 

 

 

 

Louis sets an alarm so they wake up before her mum gets back, so they -- as Louis puts it -- “won’t have to deal with any awkward women boners.”

Harry tells her that’s not even a thing, then hits Louis with a pillow when she protests. Louis helps fix Harry’s hair, running her hands through it.

Harry’s looking around for something to make for dinner, when Louis comes down, a twin on each hip. The twins look sleepy soft, in matching pyjamas, rubbing their eyes with tiny fists. Their blond hair is all static, and they look completely adorable

“Harry’s still here!” Daisy cheers, scrambling off Louis and wrapping her tiny arms around Harry’s legs. “When’s mummy coming back?”

“Soon, Daisy,” Louis promises, ruffling her hair as she heads for the fridge. She lets her hand rest against Harry’s back for a moment, before opening the fridge. “What about soup for dinner?”

“Do you mean soup or calorie loaded crap?” Harry murmurs, gently shoving Louis out of the way. “Why were you looking in the fridge for soup, anyway?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Louis says, dragging the word out, “I was hoping a certain chef would see all these fresh vegetables, and offer to make something Jamie Oliver worthy.”

“Still not a chef,” Harry reminders her, but dutifully takes out some tomatoes, onions and potatoes. “Do you have any coriander or bay leaves?”

“Do you have any coriander or bay leaves?” Louis mocks, in a deep voice.

“Heyy, that sounds nothing like me,” Harry frowns, “just for that I won’t let you taste it.”

“I’m devastated,” Louis says solemnly, then ruins it by crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue. She jumps up on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs back and forth. She watches with bright eyes as Harry and the twins make the soup, calling out smart arse comments every so often.

“Okay, herbs please,” Harry requests politely, once the soup is simmering and she’s mixed in a stock cube.

Louis slides off the counter with a deliberate flex of her hips, heading to the cupboard the baking stuff had been in earlier. “Rosemary?”

“Too strong,” Harry says, shaking her head, “overpowers the taste of the vegetables.”

“Of course. How didn’t I know that?”

“We all makes mistakes,” Harry answers, deadpan, then smirks when Louis flips her off discretely. “Come on, Lewis, you’re wasting time.”

“Yeah, _Lewis_ ,” Daisy giggles, and Harry slaps her a high five.

Louis throws her the jar of coriander, then a jar of thyme, and Harry stirs them into the soup. It smells good, filling the kitchen. Louis and the girls dry the chopping boards whilst it simmers some more. They’re just dishing up when the front door opens.

Harry can feel her palms sweating as the twins race off to meet their mum, and she wipes them on her leggings. She’s suddenly hyper aware of her appearance; hair in a sloppy bun, flour on her leggings from earlier, all her make up slept off.

“You look great,” Louis reassures her suddenly, squeezing her hand, and then Louis’ mum and Dan enter the kitchen. “Mum, this is my friend Harry. She helped look after the girls today.”

Louis’ mum is a smiley woman called Jay; Harry likes her immediately. She looks a bit surprised at Harry’s sudden presence, but she greets her warmly, thanking her for looking after the girls and making the soup.

“I hope they weren’t too bad,” Jay says wryly, hugging a resisting Lottie. “We have quite a clan. How many Disney films did you have to watch?”

“Just one,” Harry laughs, “but I knew all the words, so I think I passed initiation.”

Jay laughs at that, squeezing her arm, and Harry feels her stomach flip happily. They all sit down to it, and it’s such a _family._ Louis ratting Lottie out for texting under the table, Daisy flinging peas at Phoebe, Fizzy telling Harry all about the cute guy in her maths class.

It quiets down after dinner, Harry offering to help clean up. Lottie volunteers to give the twins a bath, groaning when they insist on a bedtime story as well. Fizzy slips away too, and then it’s just Harry and Louis and the two adults.

Louis’ sitting at the table, and Harry can see the way she’s jolting her thigh up and down. She clears her throat. “Mum.”

Jay turns to her, one hand wrapped around the plate she’s drying. “Yes, sweetheart.”

“I’m gay,” Louis blurts, a rushed garble of syllables, and then she’s crying, and Jay’s crying because Louis’ crying, and Harry’s crying because she’s just a very emotional person, okay?

It’s not elegant, it’s not planned, but there’s no prescribed way to come out, and trust Louis to jump in head first.

Jay’s kissing Louis’ head, murmuring something in her ear, so Harry relaxes a little. Dan clears his throat a bit, then makes everyone a cup of tea, which Harry thinks is the most British thing she’s ever seen anyone do.

A bit later, Louis’ got puffy eyes and her hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea, Jay’s arm tight around her waist. Jay bites her lip, kissing Louis’ forehead. “Darling, we love you. It doesn’t matter who you love, I don’t care. As long as you are happy, and safe, you can be in love with anyone you want.”

Harry silently tears up again.

“She’s right, Lou,” Dan says, leaning across the table. He looks very tired, squeezing Louis’ hand. “You are perfect the way you are, and if people don’t realise that, that’s their problem.”

“Did you not think you could tell us?” Jay asks, eyes filling up again, and Louis takes a shaky breath.

The words spill out of Louis’ mouth, like poison finally leaving a wound. She tells her what her dad had said, what it had done to her. Everyone cries. Harry’s pretty certain she alone uses up an entire box of tissues.

“That bastard,” Jay gasps finally, “I have a few choice words to say to him. Lou, it was nothing like at all. Who you are, that didn’t affect our marriage. I left him because - well, because he did things like that. Ripped people to shreds. Christ, you were _ten_.”

She trails off, and it’s awful, the look of helplessness on her face. Louis, however, closes her eyes for a moment, looking more relaxed than Harry’s ever seen her. “Thanks, mum. I think I needed to hear that. I knew it was bullshit, but - hearing it, it’s. It’s good.”

“I love you,” Jay murmurs, pulling Louis into a hug. “I love you so much. Never forget that. And so does Dan. Your father was a cunt.”

“ _Mum_!” Louis shouts, shocked, and then they’re all laughing. It’s so funny to hear it come from Jay’s mouth, and it feels good to laugh, all the tension slowly seeping from the room.

“So,” Jay says, pulling back with shiny eyes. She gives Harry a watery smile. “So, Harry is your girlfriend? Well, you’re very welcome to the family Harry, that soup sold it for me - “

“We’re not girlfriends,” Harry and Louis say at the same time, and then begin a complicated eye conversation _of sorry, that sounded harsh, but we haven’t decided anything, but we could be? One day? If you want to?_

It’s a very complicated eye conversation. Harry’s probably just projecting.

“Louis’ my friend,” Harry settles on, when Louis’ making panic eyes at her, “but um, I’m also a lesbian. Um, not that that’s relevant. Well, it kind of is. But not to dating. To the whole gay thing. I helped her through it. Sort of.”

“Harry’s been really supportive,” Louis cuts in. They are making such a cock up of this. And neither of them even like cocks. God. “She’s a really good friend.”

“Ah, okay,” Jay nods, though she looks a bit confused. "Well, if you do ever date my daughter, you would be welcome to the family with culinary skills like that.”

It breaks the ice, which is nice. Jay gives Louis another big cuddle before moving away. She gives Dan a hug, settling into his side, and Harry slips into the empty chair. She knocks her ankle against Louis’. “You did it, champ.”

Louis laughs, hoarse but beautiful. “Thanks, sailor.”

She’s still trembling, a little tick in her hand, so Harry grabs it, tucks her fingers into the gaps between Louis’. Louis rests her head on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry closes her eyes.

For the first time in a long time, Harry thinks everything might be okay.


	6. Chapter 6

“Why has Louis texted me saying ‘ _hey_ , _payno_ , _am_ _super_ _gay_ _but_ _not_ _for_ _you_.’ Harry, do you have anything to do with this?”

Harry hums absently, phone tucked into the crook of her shoulder. She’s bent over in a potentially new yoga position, trying to paint her toenails fuchsia, whilst trying to keep her other foot straight so the painted nails on that one won’t smudge. “Uh huh. What else does it say?”

Liam clears her throat. “Also, if you hurt Zaynie, I will rip your teeth out and sow them like wild oats.” Liam pauses. “Sow. _Sow_. Like with a needle?”

Harry rolls her eyes. “No, like in a fucking _field_ , Liam.”

"A field? Why would she put my teeth in a field?”

“Liam, I have a feeling this might be a hypothetical situation.”

“Oh. Right.”

Harry finishes coating her little toe in bright pink and sits back, pumping her fist in the air. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, holding her feet out. “Okay, I’ve finished. So, what happened to you and Zayn?”

Christ, she can practically hear Liam’s blush through the phone. “Um, I think we’re together? Like, she said we were girlfriends so like, yes? Do you think I should double check?”

“No, that sounds pretty official,” Harry laughs, “did you have sex?”

Liam mumbles something indiscernible, which only makes Harry laugh harder. “Who did who? Is she good with her mouth? Does she like dirty talk? What did she - “

“I’m not telling you about it,” Liam hisses, “it’s private - “

“Liam,” Harry sighs, “you need to get over your socially enforced stigma of sex. You have a beautiful body, you are allowed to - “

“Shut up, you’re not funny. Just because you’re obsessed with sex.”

“I have the healthy sex drive of a young woman,” Harry trills. She can hear some noise on the end of the phone, a door open and Liam’s mum saying something. “Is that your mum? Let me talk to her.”

“No,” Liam says immediately, “you have an abnormally close relationship with my mother, no - I’m on the phone, mum. Yes, to Harry. What?”

There’s a pause, then Liam says sulkily, “Mum wants to talk to you.”

Harry has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “Hello, Karen! How are you?”

Liam’s mother is lovely, if overbearing, and adores Harry. She chats to her, tells her about Geoff’s latest golfing escapades and the new bikini she bought in Peacocks. “I don’t normally go for something so daring, Harry, but the colour is lovely. And I’m not in too bad shape, if I say so myself.”

“Aw, I bet you look like a model, Karen.” Harry can hear Liam choking.

“Now, this Zayn girl,” Karen begins conspiratorially, whispering even though Liam is definitely still in the room. “Is she good to our Liam? She’s not of these flighty types, running off the moment they see a nice lad. Or lady, in this case.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry replies smoothly, stifling a laugh at Liam’s whining in the background. “She’s nice, she’s one of the girls on the football team.”

“Oh right. Which one? The short one with the nice bum?”

“Mum!” Liam howls, as Harry laughs. “Give me the phone back!”

“No, that’s the captain, Louis,” Harry smiles, shaking her head, “Zayn’s the one got tackled by the other team. With black hair.” Harry pauses, then shrugs. “Really fit.”

“Right,” Karen hums, not even sounding flustered, and in the background Liam shouts: “The one with the nice bum is Harry’s girlfriend!”

“Really, Harry?” Karen coos, while Harry makes a mental list of ways Liam could die. “Isn’t that lovely? A gorgeous girl like you deserves to be appreciated.”

Harry can only assume Liam tackles her mum at this point, because there’s a series of loud thuds, a shriek, a door slam, then Liam’s voice panting into the phone. “You’re such a fucking flirt, Haz, even with my mum.”

“I like older women,” Harry smirks, just to hear Liam’s groan. “Why did you tell her Louis was my girlfriend? You’re such a twat.”

“Oh, I thought the gay text meant you were together,” Liam says after a moment, genuine confusion colouring her tone.

Harry feels for her; she’s had so many things to happen her in the past month, she could wake up tomorrow with a penis and she’d just shrug it off. Or tug it off, her mind supplies, and she spends a minute laughing at her own joke.

She tells Liam the joke, but Liam doesn’t get it, so Harry changes the subject. “We’re taking it slow. She’s only just come out, I didn’t want to pressure her into anything straight away.”

“Hm. Do you think this is actually Louis’ number?”

“What?” Harry asks, distracted, “um, probably. Why?”

“Nothing,” Liam says, which means it definitely is something, because Liam is a shit liar. “I’m hanging up because you talked to my mum about her bikini, you tart. Love you.”

“Love you,” Harry tells the dialling tone, then slides off her bed, feet curling into the soft carpet. She flicks the light off, snuggling under her duvet, then texts Louis: _one_ _down_ x

Louis replies a second later, and Harry tucks the phone to her chest, closing her eyes.

 **one** **down** **babe** **xx**

 

 

 

 

 

“Jesus, what are they doing?”

Harry shrugs, crossing her legs and stabbing a piece of pineapple. “Who knows, it’s like an endangered species that refuses to breed.”

“Today on Lesbian Planet,” Niall begins, in a startlingly accurate impression of David Attenborough. “We observe the mating dance of the Payne, hoping to ensnare the lesser known Malik.”

“As you can see,” Harry continues, adopting the same voice, “both very shy creatures and both -- to use the scientific term -- arse over tit for the other.”

“Tune in next week to see if there is any chance of offspring,” Niall drawls, and Harry snorts.

It’s a little mean, but Liam and Zayn are being ridiculous. They’re standing in the queue for lunch, Liam looking at the floor and blushing. Zayn occasionally says something to her, leaning just close enough for it to be more than perfunctory, their arms brushing.

Harry watches boredly, chewing her fruit. Zayn and Liam’s hands are brushing. “That is a frustratingly small distance.”

Thankfully, Liam actually grows a pair at some point, and grabs Zayn’s hand. They smile at each other in a cutesy way, and Liam is so distracted she walks into the back of a Year 8 and apologises profusely.

“That is painful to watch,” Louis notes with a curved lip, “Niall, move over.”

Niall waves a hand, unbothered. Louis flops down into the seat next to Harry, flashing her a smile. Harry can smell her apple shampoo, Louis’ warm thigh pressed against hers.

“Are they - the fuck, Niall?” Louis squeals. Niall’s grabbed her in a huge bear hug, Louis’ head smushed to Niall’s boobs. If it was anyone else Harry would be jealous, but it’s _Niall_.

“Got your text,” Niall mumbles, and Louis relaxes incrementally. “Love you, Tommo. Kind of crude but direct.”

“Simple but effective,” Louis says after a moment, Niall letting her go. She rubs her eyes discreetly, and Harry puts a hand on her thigh, squeezing gently. “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. Well, I think you already knew, but sorry anyway.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Niall shrugs, picking up her burger and taking a massive bite. “You were doing your repressed feelings bit and that.”

Louis turns to Harry, blue eyes clouded a little with worry. “I think I’ll tell the team later. Um. Is that how this works?”

Harry laughs, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “It works whatever way you want it to. Coming out doesn’t just happen once. You can come out to your parents but not your friends. Or just come out to your sister, but not your colleagues. It’s more complex than that. Or easier, I guess. Depends which way you look at it.”

Louis rolls her eyes at the end part, but she places her hand on top of Harry’s. “Okay. Are you coming to football practise later?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to check with the captain,” Harry replies sweetly, and she knows she’s flirting, but the way Louis’ eyes darken is worth it. “Are we doing any interesting stretches?”

It’s a terrible chat up line, but Louis leans forward anyway, tugging on one of Harry’s curls. Her voice is lower when she speaks, and it makes Harry want to roll over and show her stomach. “I could think of a few.”

“You’re disgusting,” Niall says bluntly, looking at them with distaste. “Is this what it’s going to be like around here now? I’ll go sit with Jesy and Jade, at least they’re discreet about eating each other’s faces.”

“Can you be discreet about eating someone’s face off?” Harry wonders seriously. “It’s not a very discreet thing.”

“Shut up,” Niall snaps, “you could take a leaf from their book.”

“Their discreet face eating book,” Louis says solemnly, “I will be sure to check that out.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ugh, falling on the floor _hurts_.

It’s cold today, frost coating the grass like icing sugar. The sky is clear, almost translucent, and the wind whips at their cheeks. Harry had been going for the ball, had missed the ball completely, and now she’s having a reflective moment of staring at the big expanse of white above her.

She can hear Zayn and Liam laughing, they were the ones closest to her, and she closes her eyes, thunking her head back. The cold is leeching into the back of her shirt, when a warm hand wraps around her knee, a complete jolt to her frigid skin.

“Get up, Styles,” a familiar voice calls, slow and smooth like honey, and Harry opens her eyes. Louis is beaming over her, eyes sharp and clear, cheeks pink with the cold. “You’re an embarrassment, my god.”

Harry gives her a dirty look, which somehow dissolves into a wide grin. Louis’ small fingers wrap around hers, locking into place with Harry’s and pulling her up. “If you wanted to get my attention, you could have just brought a sign or something.”

“Yeah, because I’m that emotionally deprived that I’ll break my arse,” Harry snorts, rubbing her back. She’s pretty sure she’s got a huge wet patch there, how glamorous.

“Don’t break it, it’s a nice arse,” Louis says seriously, then jogs off to shout at some people, leaving Harry feeling all happy and glowy. She may have to invest in some shorter shorts.

Practise goes well. Their next big match is a couple of weeks away, against one of the better teams, so Louis’ got them training hard. Harry honestly thinks her lungs are going to collapse after one point; naturally, Liam is hardly breaking a sweat.

She sees Louis talking to Jesy and Jade at the end, twisting her hair nervously round her fingers. Harry hesitates, but heads to the changing rooms, getting a nice eyeful of a half naked Niall.

“Niall, put some clothes on,” Liam orders, deliberating not looking at her.

“I’m texting,” Niall says, tongue sticking out a bit. She’s in a bright green bra, and knickers that say: _kiss_ _me_ , _I’m_ _Irish_. Harry laughs for about five minutes, then smacks Niall on the bum when she stands up. “Hands off, Haz, you can’t afford me.”

“I wasn’t looking to buy,” Harry pouts, and Niall just saunters to her peg, wiggling her bum as she goes.

“Get some clothes on, you tart,” Zayn cackles, and this much bum smacking should surely be homoerotic. If she wasn’t into girls, Harry probably would be after this, with a half naked Zayn, clad in cute, lacey bra and matching knickers. “No one wants to see that.”

Liam kicks Harry in the shin; Harry glares at her, then concedes the fact she was probably drooling.

“Loads of people want to see this,” Niall pouts, pulling a clean shirt over her head and shimmying into her jeans. “Josh wants to see it.”

“Everyone wants to see you naked, Niall,” Louis says consolingly, walking into the room and patting Niall on the shoulder. “I’m sure you have a beautiful body.”

“Thank you, Tommo,” Niall beams, and Harry has no idea how those two make it sound so platonic. “Right, see you tomorrow, guys.”

“Li, you want a lift?” Zayn asks casually. Thankfully she has a shirt on now. Liam’s carefully re-braiding her hair, so Zayn flops down onto the bench next to her.

“Thanks.” Liam smiles softly, eyes crinkling up. Zayn rests her hand on Liam’s thigh, squeezing it gently, and Liam snaps her hairband around the end of her braid. Liam gives Harry what she thinks is supposed to be a _look_ , but she just looks like she’s squinting.

Liam and Zayn leave hand in hand, then it’s just Harry and Louis. Louis waggles her eyebrows at her, then turns around. Harry’s mouth goes dry as she pulls off her shirt. Louis’ back is an expanse of smooth skin, glowing like the sun, her loose hair a shimmering cascade.

“I told Jesy and Jade,” Louis says, her voice echoing in the silent room. “They were nice about it.”

“That’s because Jesy and Jade _are_ nice,” Harry answers. She hadn’t got changed yet, waiting for Louis, so she wiggles out of hers shorts. Her foot catches on the bottoms as she kicks them off, and she stubs her toe.

“That’s because Jesy and Jade are banging,” Louis corrects. She still has her back turned, pulling a clean set of clothes out of her bag.

She shucks off her shorts, and Harry’s breath catches. She’s only in women’s boxers, a soft grey with white lacy edges, but her bum looks amazing. Harry wants to sink her teeth into that skin.

“Do you think that will be okay for the team?” Louis hums, shoving her dirty clothes in her kit bag. “I swear, this team is like a massive lesbian orgy. Everyone’s gay and doing each other. Ha, we should have put that on the signup list. Haz?”

In all honesty, Harry had blacked out a little bit staring at Louis’ bum, but she clocks in when Louis says her name. “Uh, yeah?”

Louis turns around at her questioning tone, and this is _worse_. Louis’ only in her sports bra, black and purple, but it’s enough to send Harry into a sex induced coma. She ducks her head, cheeks flaming, and doesn’t look up until Louis says, “Harry.”

Louis’ voice is low, raspy, and Harry gets a jolt of heat when she realises Louis’ morning voice probably sounds like that. Louis’ eyes have gone a deep, dark blue, and Harry’s stomach flips.

“You’re still wearing the kit,” Louis says finally, voice like gravel.

Harry looks down. She’s not wearing her fave pair of knickers, considering she was just running around in the mud kicking a ball, but they’re not completely embarrassing. They’re light blue, with light grey lace around the edge. She’s wearing her kit shirt still, red and white with _Hall Cross_ printed across the back.

The team Louis’ captain of, Harry’s brain adds in, and the light bulb switches on. The shirt falls just above the creamy skin of her thighs, and she parts her legs ever so slightly. It’s worth it to see the way Louis’ gaze dips to the apex of her legs, hands curling.

“Is this a thing for you?” Harry asks, dangerously soft. Her body feels like it’s waking up, blood swirling in her veins. Her nipples have hardened to little buds in her bra, and she can feel herself begin to get wet.

Louis looks as though she’s having a mental battle with herself, emotions warring across her face. Harry spreads her legs further, ignores the little voice questioning it, and Louis snaps.

Everything seems to be explosions with them, quick movements spurred by feelings that blaze under Harry’s skin, bruised hips, bruised mouths, bruised hearts, every kiss a brand, every handprint a tattoo. They’re strong together, powerful, crashing their mouths together with ferocity and not caring if they _burn_ , _burn_ , _burn_.

Louis’ hands hug Harry’s hips, her back smacking painfully against the wall. The wooden bench is uncomfortable, but she’s distracted by Louis biting down on her bottom lip. The kiss is wet, messy, and the slick noises of Louis’ lips makes Harry groan.

Harry’s overwhelmed by the amount of bare skin she has to touch, running her hands over Louis’ back, sliding them down her ribs. She cups Louis’ breast, palming it through the fabric, and Louis keens.

She slides into Harry’s lap, feet planted on either side. The sudden lapful of hot, gorgeous girl is almost too much. Harry’s closes her legs instinctively, so wet her underwear is _soaked_ , can feel it dampening her thighs. “God, Harry,” Louis groans, “why is this still on?”

“Thought it was a kink of yours,” Harry whines, in between kissing Louis’ neck. Louis’ got her eyes closed and she smells incredible, a little dirty which turns Harry on more than she’d care to admit. She bites down on the soft skin, sucking dark bruises into it, the permanence of it making jolts zip down her spine.

“So contrary,” Harry pants, licking over a particularly sore spot in apology, “make up your _mind_ \- “

Louis grinds her hips forward in a deliberate way, and Harry’s brain short circuits. Louis’ deft fingers tug her shirt over her head, giggling when it gets stuck and Harry’s temporarily plunged into darkness. Her hair is all staticy when she finally gets it off.

“Heyy,” Harry mumbles when Louis laughs, self-consciously patting her curls. “You’re the one who couldn’t get the t-shirt off, real seductress you are.”

“Shush.” Louis’ giggling still, eyes scrunched up, hair sticking up at the back from Harry’s hands in it. “Shush, at least I got results, you’re half naked. I was a big girl and did that all by myself.”

Harry pauses, then opens her mouth, but Louis puts one hand over it. “Don’t make a joke about being a big girl, or having a big girl, or just - don’t make a joke. Back to doing the sex.”

“Doing the sex,” Harry repeats dubiously, but then Louis’ grinding forward again, unclipping Harry’s bra at the same time. Harry is seriously impressed at her multitasking.

Louis lobs the bra somewhere, ignoring Harry’s whine of protest, still moving her hips in a figure of eight. Louis’ essentially getting off on Harry’s thigh, Harry can feel the sticky tackiness of it on her leg. Louis’ grinding and the slight rocking of the bench is driving her insane, heat coiling in her stomach.

“Fuck,” Louis whines, and then she leans forward. Slowly, she traces her tongue around one of Harry’s nipples, Harry’s back arching at the sensation. Louis tugs the nipple with her teeth, Harry whining, and then Harry shoves Louis away, eyes flying open.

“Shit,” Louis howls, leaning back, chest heaving. “What the fuck?”

“We’re doing the sex,” Harry says seriously, fingertips digging into Louis’ arms, leaving little crescent moons. “Louis, we are _doing_ _the_ _sex_.”

“You’ve got your tits out and I’m half naked in your lap,” Louis snaps, crossing her arms, “I should hope we’re bloody well doing the sex.”

“You don’t get it,” Harry sighs, sadness making her words tumble out. “I was supposed to give you space, let you work it all out. Coming out is hard, and I don’t want to do the sex -- well, I do, I want to do lots of the sex -- but, that’s not just what I want.”

“The mushy emotion talk is the biggest cock block ever,” Louis groans. She sets her shoulders, blue eyes blazing, pinning Harry to the bench. “Harry, please stop being so considerate.”

Harry’s jaw falls open. “What?”

Louis presses her hands to Harry’s shoulders, spreading her fingers ever so slightly. “I really, really like you. A whole lot. And the whole, dumb, stupid, dull witted - “

“Doltish,” Harry supplies helpfully.

Louis nods regally. “Thanks, babe, _doltish_ story will be told one day, I’m sure. But I’m not going to run, okay? Yes, coming out is - scary, and horrible, and ridiculously freeing, but this isn’t going to push my back into the closet.” She sets her jaw. “Nothing is going to put me back in the closet.”

Harry’s breathing is quick, her lungs desperately pulling in air. She wraps her fingers in Louis’ soft hair, thumbs over the sensitive skin of her ear. “So this is okay? It’s not too fast, you won’t freak out? It’s okay if you do, it’s normal - “

Louis rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, a soft, tender thing that Harry tucks behind her ribcage. “It’s not too fast. I can deal with. Besides.” She threads her fingers with Harry’s, placing them over the soft skin of her chest. “I have you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, the feeling in her chest, beautiful and dazzling, too momentous to put into words. “Yeah, you do.”

“And now,” Louis grins, and it’s sharp, her eyes hooded. She leans forwarded, voice barely a whisper. “I’m going to pin you to that wall and lick you out till you scream.”

Harry’s breath hitches in her throat, all the heat in her body rushing between her legs. Louis drops to her knees, as graceful as a cat, and Harry’s head is spinning. She pinches her thigh with her thumb and forefinger, wincing as her head clears. “Wait, Lou, your knees - “

“I’m about to eat you out, and you’re worried about my _knees_?” Louis asks incredulously. She snorts. “Stop talking, Haz.”

Harry’s about to protest, when Louis puts two thumbs on her thighs, spreading them. It’s as if Harry goes completely boneless, as Louis presses one kiss to the inside of her thigh. Harry whimpers, can’t help it, Louis’ lips leave a searing hot trail of pleasure.

Louis slowly kisses her way up her thigh, closer and closer, until she gets to the apex of Harry’s thighs. Louis pauses, and Harry’s squirms, knowing how wet she is. Louis can probably _smell_ it, Harry thinks, in a dizzyingly rush of arousal, and then Louis’ hot breath is washing over her pussy.

“So wet,” Louis breathes, the words vibrating against Harry’s most sensitive spot. One thumb hooks under the elastic, pulling her knickers down, and Harry keens as one finger brushes her folds.

“Do you like this?” Louis continues, as she slowly slides a finger inside her, deep and full. She’s wet with Harry’s slick, and she sinks it all the way to the knuckle. “Like knowing that anyone could walk in?”

Harry can feel the pleasure building and building, Louis’ words going straight through her. Louis adds another finger, pumping them in and out leisurely. She reaches up with her free hand, cupping Harry’s breast. “Come in and see you, all laid out for me, wet, so wet.”

Harry shudders as Louis’ thumb traces her clit, the feeling incredible. She clenches down around Louis’ hand, as Louis keeps whispering into her neck. “Imagine, someone seeing you with your legs wide open, being _fucked_ on my fingers -”

Louis’ voice breaks on the word fucked, just as she presses hard on Harry’s clit, and Harry comes so hard she blacks out. The pleasure rocks through her, and she squeezes around Louis’ fingers, panting heavily. When she comes to, Louis is staring at her in pure amazement.

She slowly pulls her fingers out, blinking long lashes. Harry is feeling lovely and floaty, completely blissful, and Louis is staring at her with complete adoration.

Slowly, Louis brings her hand to Harry’s mouth, and Harry licks her fingers clean. She can taste herself on them, sweet, and sucks extra hard on Louis’ fingers just to see her eyes darken.

“I wanted to eat you out,” Louis whines finally, and Harry bursts into giggles, leaning forward and resting her head on Louis’ shoulder. Louis wraps her arms around her, pulling her close, mumbling something about stupid horny teenagers.

Harry giggles, pushing back. “Okay, your turn.”

“No way, curly.” Louis stops her gently, eyes big and soft. “You’re useless after sex, you’re like a kitten.”

“I’m not,” Harry protests, even though she does still feel kind of hazy, her limbs loose. “Let me get you off.”

“Later,” Louis repeats firmly, tenderly, and Harry’s insides melt. Louis helps her up from the bench, swinging their hands between them. They keep their hands entwined the whole time, resulting in Harry kicking Louis in the ankle while trying to do her bra strap up.

“This is ridiculous,” Harry giggles, once they’re finally dressed. She’s somehow ended up in Louis’ arms, but she isn’t complaining. She feels a little sore between her legs, but good, like the buzz and stretch in your muscles after a good workout.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Louis mutters, like it’s supposed to be an insult. She’s leaving little kitten kisses all over Harry’s face though, so it’s not very convincing. She makes Harry do up her peacoat and everything, then shoves Harry’s beanie over her eyes.

“Piss off,” Harry says happily, pushing it back up. Louis slings her bag over her shoulder, and Harry does the same. They’re all bundled up in their winter clothes, and Harry can’t help crack up at the irony of it; barely ten minutes ago they were considerably fewer layers.

“Come on, dork,” Louis grins, wrapping a gloved hands in hers. She all but drags Harry from the changing rooms, kicking the door shut with a smirk. “God, imagine if Teasdale had still been here.”

“Lou!” Harry scolds, slapping her arm. “I babysit her kids, shut up.”

“You’re so loud when you come,” Louis says in a sly voice, and Harry feels like her whole body blushes.

“So are you,” Harry counters, tossing her head. “Or you will be, once I get my mouth on you.”

Louis trips over her own feet, which is hilarious, and also leaves Harry extremely proud. She licks her lips lasciviously, tugging her lip with her teeth, and Louis shoves her. “Stop it, you utter slattern.”

“Big word,” Harry teases, grinning when Louis huffs indignantly. “Been hanging around Zayn?”

They’re outside of the school gates now, slowly meandering down the street. It’s already dark, the blue fingertips of the sky reaching up towards darkness, the air sweet and cool on Harry’s face. Louis hasn’t let go of Harry’s hand.

“Do you want to come back to mine?” Louis asks. “Mum is making soup. She keeps trying to replicate your masterpiece, it’s like she’s obsessed.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, “let me text my parents, my mum will freak out otherwise.”

“Don’t want to upset the parents,” Louis acknowledges, squeezing Harry’s hand. Harry sighs contentedly, leaning her head on Louis’ shoulder for a moment. She’s so, so happy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dinner at Louis’ is nice. Daisy and Phoebe squeal when Harry walks through the door, and Fizzy asks Harry is she’ll help her with her maths homework. Jay kisses Harry on her cheek, then smiles broadly when she sees their clasped hands.

They have soup, which is tasty and warms her up. Louis whispers she likes hers better, but Harry shushes her. It feels warm and homey, and Harry’s sad when she realises she really has to get back.

“Are you taking her in the piece of shit car?” Lottie asks, eyes glinting. Louis glares at her, so it must be a running joke. Lottie cackles. “Me and Fizzy refuse to call it anything else, it’s such a heap of junk.”

“Shut up,” Louis scowls, grabbing her car keys and shoving them in her pocket. She pulls on a denim jacket with a fluffy hood, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Harry. “It’s all I could afford.”

Harry's heart clenches at Louis’ flushed cheeks, and she slips an arm around her waist. Louis rests all her weight on Harry for a moment, a silent show of appreciation, then unlocks the front door.

Louis’ car isn’t even that bad, just a little beat up. There’s McDonald’s wrappers everywhere, her cds stacked messily on the dashboard. She’s got a little Man U tag hanging from the rearview mirror, and for some reason, a troll doll in the glove box.

Harry picks it up, strokes his straw-like orange hair. “Why do you have a troll doll?”

“Zayn got for me,” Louis shrugs, checking her mirrors, then pulling out. “It probably has some deep, spiritual meaning.”

Harry is a bit distracted by Louis driving the car; there is something really sexy about driving. Harry’s probably just seen _Fast_ _and_ _Furious_ one too many times, but it turns her on a bit, Louis’ eyes focused on the road, slate grey in the dim glow of the street lights. Strong hands clenched on the wheel.

Louis looks at her sideways. “Do you have a fetish or something?”

“I really want eat you out,” Harry observes casually, and then sits back and watches the ensuing Louis Tomlinson explosion. It’s quite funny really, seeing Louis’ knuckles turn white. “In the back seat. That would be hot. We should do that, can we do that?”

“Hush,” Louis scowls, putting one hand over Harry’s mouth. Harry lets out a little moan; Louis driving one handed is even hotter. “I’m going to crash the car if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Harry asks innocently, batting her eyelashes.

“You know what,” Louis mutters darkly, and Harry throws her head back and laughs. Louis flicks the radio on, soft music spilling out, and they sit in comfortable silence. It’s warm with the car heater on, and Harry drifts off a little, soothed by the hum of the car.

“Wake up, sleepy,” Louis coos as they pull up to her house, one hand resting on Harry’s thigh. Harry stretches, wincing when her back clicks. “Early bed, you’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Ha, ha,” Harry says, rolling her eyes. “You going to tuck me in, too?”

“That’s not what I’m going to do with you in bed,” Louis retorts salaciously, rolling her eyes at Harry’s pout. “You are not licking me out in the back seat, we are outside your _mother’s_ house.”

She pats Harry’s leg condescendingly. “Save it for a rainy day, sweetheart.”

“I hate you,” Harry says flatly, and Louis laughs. “I wish we could go to a fancy hotel, spend a proper night together.”

Louis eyes her curiously, tilting her head at Harry’s wistful sigh. “Right little romantic, aren’t you?”

Harry closes her eyes, imagining it all. “Satin sheets, flashy shower.” She opens her eyes and grins at Louis. “Rose petals leading to the bed.”

“Alright,” Louis cuts in, then leans in and kisses her. Her lips are soft, sweet, and she curls a hand into Harry’s hair. Harry kisses back automatically, parting her mouth easily for Louis’ tongue, one hand gently wrapped around Louis’ wrist. It’s gentle and warm, a slow burning fire in Harry’s stomach.

“Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?” Louis asks when she pulls back, “I could pick up Liam as well.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees happily, the embers of the little fire glowing. “I better go. Um.”

She leans in quick, kissing Louis on the corner of her mouth, then slips out of the car. She tries to look suave, flexing her hips, but she almost falls on her face. Louis snorts and wolf whistles, but Harry just flicks her off. She waits until Harry is inside before she pulls away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Turns out, picking Liam up from school is a generous sentiment, but a completely dumb arse idea.

It starts out okay. Louis and Liam actually chat about Marvel movies or some shit, whilst Harry sits in the front seat. (She gets to ride shotgun. She is stupidly proud about this.) Anyway, everything is happy clappy superheroes, then Louis and Liam are shouting about road safety.

“Did you even take your theory test, it clearly says - “

“No one even remembers those tests - “

“They are a definitive part of your licence - “

“Come on, I ignored one, teensy rule - “

“YOU RAN A RED LIGHT!”

“NO ONE DIED!”

“WELL, WHAT A STROKE OF LUCK THAT WAS!”

Harry sighs. “Pull over.”

“AND YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE - “

“PULL OVER!” Harry yells, smacking her hand on the dashboard. “Please.”

Louis does pull over, shooting her a hurt look. “Hey, my driving isn’t that bad.”

“No,” Harry says slowly, “but we’ve just driven past Zayn’s house five times.”

“Huh,” Louis pauses, forehead wrinkling. “How did you know that?”

Harry stares at her. “Because Zayn is standing outside.”

“Oh,” Louis says brightly, flicking her fringe. She has her hair down, spilling over her shoulders, and the weak sunlight is glinting gold off her skin. “Look at that. Muscle memory.”

Harry can see Liam faceplant in the rearview mirror.

Zayn opens the door of the car, sliding in whilst giving Louis a disgruntled look. “What is this? Have you turned into one of those fifteen year old boys that revs the engine too much?”

“Please distract Liam,” Harry pleads, changing the radio station. “She and Louis are going to kill each other, and I would like to get to school as some point.”

Zayn blinks long lashes, then shrugs. “Okay.”

“What?” Liam begins, but then Zayn’s smashing their mouths together, one hand dangerously close to the inside of Liam’s thigh. Harry sighs contentedly, then links her hand over Louis’ on the gearstick.

“Did I mention we’re picking Niall up?” Louis announces cheerfully, and it’s not certain who groans loudest.

With all due credit, Liam doesn’t stop kissing Zayn, but when they do get to school, Liam punches Louis so hard in the boob that she cries.

“Good road safety though,” Harry notes as Louis’ clutching her tits. “Waited until she got out of the car and everything.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Liam and Louis have sports studies before lunch, so Zayn, Niall and Harry slope off to the changing rooms when the bell rings. It kills two birds with one stone really, because Harry gets to watch her gorgeous girlfriend get changed, whilst not hanging around outside the changing room like a creeper.

“We look like idiots,” Niall whines, kicking her legs back and forth petulantly. Zayn, sitting next to her, ignores her, turning a page of her book. “Neither of us three do sports studies. We look like groupies. And I’m like, the groupie of the groupie.”

“Shut up,” Harry sighs, watching Louis chat to Liam. Niall digs an elbow into her ribs sharply, and Harry squeals as the sudden jolt of pain. “Knock it off, Niall.”

Niall grins at her, white teeth encased in green braces, dirty blond hair piled up on her head. She’s shameless in her loose grey tank top, her purple bandeau clearly visible. She roots around in her own bag, before spraying liberally. “It stinks in here.”

“I’m asthmatic,” Harry scowls theatrically, waving her hand to disperse the misty cloud in front of her.

“You don’t even have an inhaler with you,” Niall smirks, lips pulling up into sly smile. “You’re just pretending to be one, so it gets you sympathy votes.”

Harry pinches her hip. “Yeah, a respiratory condition is really going to get me places in life. I don’t know what you’ve been doing this whole time.”

“I’ve tried telling you, mate,” Niall says seriously, blue gaze sparkling with amusement, “Maybe go for a broken or leg something, really pull in the support.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Zayn interjects, not lifting her eyes from her page. “She almost brained herself in practise last week, we don’t need an intentional injury.”

Niall’s just about to argue back, when a sharp voice cuts through the changing room. Harry can’t make out the words, but the tone is clear, ugly and cruel. There’s a pause then a retaliation, voice low and defensive.

Harry glances up, realising that Louis isn’t standing where she was before. Fear drips through her veins, poisonous and burning, and she pushes off the bench hard. Niall trails after her, and Zayn side-eyes them, before putting her book down and following.

Harry can make out Lucy Walker, one of the girls from their class, standing with her arms crossed, mouth pinched into a cruel smirk. Harry doesn’t like Lucy. She laughed at her when she tripped over in Biology, and she always gives Harry a once over that makes her feel like shit.

Louis is standing opposite her, face shuttered and defensive, blue eyes hard as diamonds. The apples of her cheeks are tinted pink, flushed and blotchy as she stares back.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Lucy repeats, and Harry shivers at the tone of her voice. It’s cold, condescending. _Mean_. “You’re a dyke.”

Harry physically hears Niall inhale at the word, the taunt hitting her like a punch to the stomach. Louis’ eyes flash with hurt and panic, and Harry can see she’s trying very hard to stop her hands from trembling.

“You’re going out with Harry Styles,” Lucy spits, “I saw you. You’re probably in heaven now, surrounded by half naked girls.”

Lucy’s eyes flit over to Harry, standing a few feet away, trembling. Zayn and Niall flank her. She feels her throat constrict, a huge pressing weight on her lungs. The words are choking her, her mouth dry.

Harry can see a few girls look alarmed already, glancing at Louis as if she’s going to rip off their clothes at any second. Harry highly doubts this - if anything bra clasps are a bitch to undo.

“Shut the fuck up, Lucy,” Zayn snaps, moving to stand next to her best friend, “Seriously? Maybe Lou’s sneaking around with girls, but you’re the one who was caught with her skirt off in Max George’s car.”

“I was not!” Lucy spits, though the shade of her face says another thing. Harry’s impressed; Zayn looks as though she’s been to break Lucy’s neck. “Figured you’d be standing up for her, you’re probably doing her - “

“Shut up,” Louis snarls. She’s the picture of ferocity, fists clenched and eyes narrowed, snarling at Lucy like a wounded tiger. “Yeah, I’m - I’m gay. I like girls.” She swallows, and Harry can see how she pauses, inhaling before she says anything else, like she’s pacing herself. “But I still have taste. And a _girlfriend_. I wouldn’t fuck you if you were begging for it.”

Lucy looks shocked, Louis looks defiant, and Zayn is digging her nails into her palms. The girls around are watching, ripples of emotions spreading at Louis’ little speech. On one hand, Jesy Nelson is glancing at Louis approvingly. On the other, Emily Parker is not so subtly dragging her bag away from Louis’. Harry resists the urge to tell her lesbianism isn’t contagious.

“Leave her alone, Lucy,” Harry finds herself saying suddenly, startling even herself. She clears her throat when Lucy whirls on her, feels Niall press against her. “No one cares who Louis kisses. It’s her business. Just - leave her alone, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall chimes in, thrown but backing Harry to the hilt. It sends a jolt of warmth through her, Niall siding with Harry, the threads of their friendship tightening and drawing together as they join sides. “Who cares whether you like pussy, it’s not like she’d have yours.”

“Crass,” Zayn murmurs, but her amber eyes glint at Niall approvingly.

Harry makes the mistake of looking at Louis, and she just - everything in her seems to exhale, take a step back and just _breathe._ Louis is looking at her with such wide eye gratitude it makes her head spin. It feels like she’s unable to move, trapped in Louis’ gaze, something warm and heady spreading through her.

Then Louis’ lips tilt up, just a fraction, and the spell breaks, snaps into a million pieces. Harry surges forward, almost falling on her face. She links their hands, face burning, but she’s determined to do this.

The bathroom door bangs open, like a gunshot going off. Liam saunters out, completely nonchalant. Then she takes in the scene, hazel eyes widening as her brain works overtime. She swallows, then an expression of pure protectiveness crosses her face.

“Do we have a problem here?” she asks flatly, right up in Lucy’s face, and it’s a dare, a threat.

Lucy’s eyes widen, before she glares spitefully, but doesn’t say anything. The silence hangs just a beat too long, then Lucy turns around, flicking her hair over her shoulders. Harry’s suddenly aware Louis’ quivering, and she pulls her away.

They grab all their stuff, shoving kit into bags, actions frantic with gazes burning into them. Jesy hands Liam her hairbrush when she drops it, giving them a discrete wink, then they’re all bundling out of the changing rooms.

“Christ, I thought people had evolved,” Zayn spits, eyes blazing. “I’m going to shred Lucy’s art coursework, I swear I’m going to. I’m going to get the giant, _industrial_ shredder in the office- “

“No one’s shredding anything,” Liam says calmly, one arm pulling Zayn close. She pauses “Well, you’re not, I’m less suspicious.”

“You okay?” Harry asks quietly, wrapping her arm around Louis. It’s lunch by now, the halls crowded, so she tucks Louis into her side, anchors her in the chaos.

“It was going to happen sometime,” Louis answers, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder. “You probably went through worse shit.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Harry protests, not liking the blank look in Louis eyes. “She was out of line, yeah?”

“But I was just as bad,” Louis mumbles quietly, “I made you feel as shit as I do now, I could have stood up for more people.”

Harry chews on her bottom lip. “Lou, this isn’t the same thing.”

“Okay,” Louis acquiesces after a little while, “let’s go to lunch.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry worries about Louis all afternoon. She can barely concentrate through sociology, even though she’d usually be right up there calling out Durkheim’s patriarchal bigotry.

“I’m sure she’s okay,” Ashton reassures her, leaning against his locker. He cocks his head to one side, velvet eyes wide and worried. “She’s tough, she’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Harry says miserably, shoving her books in one by one. Her locker door is covered in photos, concert tickets, a solitary autumn leaf. Liam says she’s trying to recreate an American high school drama, but Harry just likes knowing little pieces of her life are waiting just down the hall.

“I - “ Ashton begins, and then there’s a clatter as the doors at the end of the hall bang open. Harry looks up automatically as the sound, doing a double take when she realises it’s Liam and Louis.

Louis is grinning, wide and beautiful, and Harry’s stomach unclenches. Liam is positively scarlett, but she’s beaming in an abashed sort of a way.

“Liam punched Max in the face!” Louis squeals, flinging her arms around Harry’s neck.

Louis seems to have approached coming out the same way she does everything; completely unapologetic and with a fierce determination. Sure, her hand trembles when she holds Harry’s in the corridor, but her grip is crushingly tight. Even now, she’s pushing their bodies together, like she’s trying to borrow some of Harry’s strength.

“You did what?” Ashton asks, pushing his hipster glasses up his nose. “Liam Payne, what the hell?”

“He called Louis a dyke,” Liam argues, “and he called Zayn a paki, and he called Harry a slut, and then I punched him in the face.”

“Liam, I love you,” Louis declares, from where she’s hanging off Harry’s neck like a monkey. “He _cried_ , the fuck, it was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Liam, you are going to get in so much trouble,” Harry grins, arms wrapped securely around Louis’ waist. “This is hilarious, your mum is going to kill you. _My_ _mum_ is going to kill you, oh my god.”

“Who even cares?” Louis demands, slipping out of Harry’s arm but linking their hands. “This is a red letter day. Liam, if you weren’t dating my best friend, and also a bit too mature, I would marry you.”

“Hey,” Harry scowls, elbowing Louis in the ribs. Gently, because she is a kind soul. “Nice to see ‘because I have a girlfriend’ isn’t on your list of restraints.”

“That was an unspoken rule,” Louis snipes, elbowing her back. Hard, because she is a cruel and vicious soul and Harry doesn’t love her one little bit. “It was implicit.”

“Borrow that word from Zayn?” Ashton jokes, then blanches when Louis gives him the eyes of death. “Okay, don’t behead me. Um. Please.”

“I won’t let her,” Harry promises, ruffling his hair. Ashton ducks but he likes it really. “Anyway, back to the fact Liam went all Bruce Banner on the guy - “

Liam opens her mouth to protest, but Harry’s distracted by Louis putting her hand on her arm. Her eyes are all soft, like melted butter, crinkles round the edges. “Harry, you made a Marvel joke.”

“Um, yes?” Harry answers, overwhelmed by the way Louis’ looking at her.

“You two are disgusting,” Ashton snipes, pulling his backpack up further. “Liam punched someone, can we focus on that please?”

“Such bad friends,” Louis solemnly, “especially when Liam is the secret love of my life.”

“I don’t want you to be the love of my life,” Liam says calmly, holding Louis by the wrists when she starts poking Liam in the face. “Can we go find Niall and Zayn, now?”

“Sure,” Louis agrees, “but only if you sign the nuptials.”

Harry gives Liam a look. Liam quivers slightly. “Sign it and I’ll punch you in the boob.”

“Possessive, I like it,” Louis grins, winding her body back around Harry’s. Harry can see Liam rolling her eyes from her peripheral vision, but she’s distracted by the flecks of grey in Louis’ eyes. When they kiss, Louis’ still laughing into her mouth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Liam isn’t her girlfriend.

But Liam also isn’t sliding into her bed right now.

Louis is; Louis with her skin that’s always as warm as the sun, her strong, taut muscles, that wrap Harry up and make her feel safe. Louis, that whispers words into Harry’s neck, promises, secrets, stories.

“Has your mum talked to you about it? About your dad?” Louis is curled around Harry like a comma, and she barely stirs at the question. Pride blooms in her chest when Louis doesn’t flinch.

“A bit.” The answer is a vibration against the skin of Harry’s collarbone. “She made me a cup of tea, proper Yorkshire and everything. I think she feels guilty. She had a cry the other day, when I wasn’t looking.”

“I hate I can’t do anything.” It’s true, Harry can’t do anything, not really. She can’t go back and hug a younger Louis Tomlinson, cradle her small body and promise her that her dad’s lying. That it’s not. “Imagine how it is for her. You’re her child.”

“She sat down and talked to the girls about it.” Louis’ fists her hands in the back of Harry’s shirt, nails dragging against the fabric. “All of them, Lottie to Phoebe. Got a load of pamphlets, they have loads of stuff like that at work. Explained it all to them, told them the whole spiel of how some people fall in love with different people. It’s like she has to make up for it. I think she’s going to put a rainbow banner outside her house.”

Harry snorts at that. “My mum’s like that. And Gemma. A couple of Christmases’ ago, some of Robin’s family came over. There was this one woman, Robin’s aunt or something. And she spent the whole time asking me whether I’d met a nice young man yet. Kept asking if I had a boyfriend.”

Harry closes her eyes, remembering. “It was fine at first. I just kept dodging the question. I knew I was gay by then, but then she was put next to me for dinner. So by the sixth time, I just said: actually, it would probably be a nice young woman.”

Louis cranes her head to look at her, cupping Harry’s face in her hands. “What she say?”

“Looked at me like I was shit.” Harry’s voice is dull, flat. The pain is second hand, detached. “Went on a rant about how it wasn’t natural. It was only a phrase. I’d get over it, wait and see, a nice man will come along eventually.”

“That’s bullshit,” Louis whispers, peppering Harry’s face with kisses, soft brushes of her lips. “Haz, oh my god. What did Gemma do?”

“Oh, put salt in her tea. And threw her Zimmer frame down the stairs.” Harry smiles sadly when Louis lets out a choked laugh, twisting their legs together.

“I’m not trying to say it’s anything like you went through, it’s not the same as your dad saying it to you, no way. I just wanted to say, um.” Harry swallows, tongue feeling thick in her mouth. “You’re not alone. You’re not a freak. I love you and I’ll be there for you, okay?

“God, you’re sweet,” Louis mutters, swinging her legs over Harry’s thighs. She presses her back against Harry’s childhood bed, leaning down so there’s barely an inch between them. “You mean so much to me, you help me so much.”

“I just want to be there for you.” Fear makes her voice catch, fear she’s not enough, that this is somehow making it all worse. It’s a fake, hollow fear, then Louis’ cradling her face, the heat of her hands dissipating any worries she has.

“You are.” Louis’ lips burn the words into her mouth. “You have to know that.”

Half an hour later, when Anne shouts upstairs and they hastily break apart, Harry’s lips bruised and tingling, Harry’s inclined to agree.


	7. Chapter 7

Everything simmers down after that, starts afresh like the sweet smell of rain after a thunderous storm. Liam has a serious right hook, as does Niall (apparently, those rumours are never disclosed), and people find other scandals to rip apart.

Louis still flinches occasionally, when Harry brushes her fringe off her face, or links their hands. Harry hates that constant internalised homophobia has been ingrained into her muscle memory, but she’ll just have to make new memories. Overwrite the old wiring with new code; soft kisses and gentle touches.

“Are you Louis’ first girlfriend?” Liam asks one day. They’re at lunch, Liam and Harry sat down, whilst Louis and Zayn queue for their own lunches. Harry doesn’t know why; Louis will only bitch about it then steal most of Harry’s.

“Um, first official one,” Harry says cautiously, picking her words. “Her and Zayn.”

She trails off awkwardly, but Liam just shrugs at her. She picks up her yogurt, peeling off the lid delicately. “Zayn told me her and Louis used to mess around. It’s cool.”

She blinks big, velvety eyes at Harry, and Harry’s heart tugs in her chest. Liam’s wearing a loose, white dress, her golden hair shimmering over her shoulders. She looks happy and relaxed, Zayn’s leather jacket draped over her shoulders. It doesn’t match at all with the rest of her outfit, but Liam doesn’t look particularly bothered.

“Why do you ask?” Harry questions, opening her little pot of fruit. She takes a bite of pineapple, tangy bursts on her tongue.

Liam hesitates, then sweeps her hair behind her ear. “Zayn’s been talking to Perrie a lot recently.”

Harry opens her mouth, ready to reassure her, when Liam continues. “I don’t want her to think she can’t be friends with her, I trust Zayn and Perrie is really nice.”

Because of course Liam wouldn’t think Zayn was cheating, she’d immediately worry Zayn had friendship issues. “Liam, you are so earnest sometimes I want to send you to a convent.”

Liam shoots her a funny look. “You spend too much time with Louis.”

“That is true,” Harry acknowledges, waving her fork in the air like she’s conducting an invisible orchestra. “But what I said was also true. You’re not Zayn’s keeper, she can add her own friends on FaceBook and everything. When do you even see Perrie anyway, she doesn’t go here.”

“No, she keeps calling her,” Liam explains, then promptly flushes scarlet. “Not that I’ve been checking her phone or anything, just she went to the loo, and it was there, and I - “

“Don’t have an aneurism,” Harry says quickly, “I don’t think Zayn’s going to flip, you haven’t gone all _Catfish_ on her arse. Just talk to her, it’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Liam eyes her dubiously, then turns and promptly squeaks. “Shit, pretend we didn’t say anything.”

Yeah, because Liam’s so conspicuous. Harry snorts into her pineapple, taking another bite. Louis slides into the seat next to her, her warm heat seeping into Harry’s skin. Harry’s muscles relax instinctively, uncoiling as Louis links their ankles.

“Is this even legal?” Louis asks disdainfully, poking her tray. Harry has been cooking since she could pick up a whisk, and even she couldn’t give a name to whatever is festering on Louis’ plate. “Can you serve nuclear waste to children?”

Harry giggles, handing over her pot of pineapple. “It’s not that bad, Lou.”

Lou pulls an expression that could shrivel the sun. “Don’t give me your diced fruit, Styles. I will suffer in silence.”

“You will suffer extremely loudly,” Harry corrects, “and then you’ll eat the diced fruit.”

“I love it when you talk dirty, babe,” Louis says huskily, then ruins it by shoving an enormous chunk of pineapple in her mouth. She swallows with difficulty, glaring when Zayn cracks up. “Shut up, Zayn.”

Zayn arches one eyebrow. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were thinking it,” Louis scowls. Harry pats her thigh in a comforting way, then leaves it there a for a couple of minutes. Louis just has really nice thighs, okay?

“Are you babysitting this weekend?” Harry smiles fondly, memories of their previous ‘babysitting’ flooding into her mind, leaving her feeling warm and happy.

“Aren't I always?” Louis asks wryly. “Dude, I don’t even get paid. I’m pretty certain this is unpaid labour. What about you?”

“Going to the spa,” Harry answers excitedly, bouncing in her seat. Louis smiles softly at her, eyes crinkling as Harry vibrates with anticipation. “Mum sprang it on me last week, told me not to book any shifts this weekend.”

“She did, huh?” Louis smiles, glancing down at the table top. She taps her hands on it, bitten nails beating out an erratic tempo. “That’s nice of her.”

“You should use the steam room,” Zayn suggests, sliding a casual arm around Liam’s shoulders. “Me and Doniya went to the spa once, it was sick. I’m trying to save up to get Mum a voucher for her birthday.”

“I’m sure Harry doesn’t even want to hear about your day at the spa, Zayn,” Louis grits out. Harry glances at her, surprised at the way all Louis’ muscles have locked up. “If you know what I mean.”

“It’s fine,” Harry frowns, glancing between the two of them. Zayn is smirking, amber eyes flashing with amusement. Liam looks as perplexed as Harry does, eyebrows crinkling. “Um, I’m not going to cry about Zayn’s spa experience.”

“It was a really good experience,” Zayn drawls, then scowls when Louis kicks her under the table. “Fuck off, Lou.”

“Don’t be an antagonist,” Louis bites out, darting small looks towards Harry. Harry runs a hand through her hair, rolling her eyes at Liam.

“Do you know what they’re going on about?”

Liam shrugs. “No.”

“Great, now you’ve alerted Liam,” Louis mutters, throwing her hands up in the air. “All we need next is for Niall to turn up.”

“She’s over there if you want her - “

“Shut up, Liam,” Zayn and Louis says simultaneously. Liam huffs at that, so Zayn places a placating kiss on her cheek.

“You are so weird,” Harry decides, shaking her head. Louis looks pained, then grabs her hand, pulling her to her feet.

“I have to get a cupcake,” Louis blurts, fingers curving around Harry’s. Harry almost trips over her feet as Louis pulls her up, eyes slate grey and anxious.

“And you’ve lost the use of your legs?” Harry asks slowly, still totally confused. “I’m your personal crutch now?”

“Yep,” Louis nods, pulling her towards the canteen, nearly steamrolling a Year 8 in her haste. Harry offers him a sympathetic look, trailing after her girlfriend. “Now shut up and look pretty.”

What’s Harry supposed to say to that?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry kicks off her shoes, sighing happily as she curls her toes into the soft carpet. The house smells sweet, spicy, like someone’s been baking. It’s warm too, the heating on, and all the tension seeps out of her. It’s nice to be home after a long school day.

She wanders to the kitchen, opening the fridge. She made a smoothie yesterday, and there’s some left. Niall had said it looked like ‘blended pig intestines’, which was particularly creative and bitchy. It’s _passion fruit_ , god.

She snaps a picture of herself and the smoothie, sends it to Niall, then puts in on Twitter. She’s trying to think of a witty caption, when her mum walks in. Her hair is piled in a messy bun, cheeks pinched from the cold. “Hi, sweetie. Did you have a nice day?”

“Uh huh,” Harry grins, pushing herself up onto the counter. “Looking forward to this weekend.”

“Have you packed your bag?” Anne asks, dropping her own bag on the counter and scrolling through her smart phone.

“We need one?” Harry frowns at her, kicking her legs back and forward. “Are we staying overnight?”

“Didn’t I mention it?” Anne says, not looking up from her screen. Harry swears her mum is worse than she is. “Yes, it’s an overnight one. We’ll leave tomorrow lunch time, if you like. Now, do you want to make lasagne for tea?”

“Yes!” Harry slides down off the counter. “I saw this really cool thing you could do with oregano, I want to try that out.”

“Okay then.” Her mum looks at her sparkling eyes, reaching one hand out to stroke Harry’s hair. Harry nudges into the touch, smiling. “You can sleep in tomorrow, I’ll wake you up.”

 

 

 

 

 

There’s someone petting Harry’s hair. Long, deft fingers are carding through it, gently tugging on the curls and scratching her scalp lightly. Harry pushes into it, smiling sleepily. Everything is soft and warm, gold lights dancing behind her eyes. She’s still half asleep, drifting back into the quiet, when someone says her name.

“Haz. Harry, babe, you have to wake up.”

Harry snuggles into her pillow, rubbing her cheek against it. She doesn’t want to get up yet; it’s warm in her little nest, warm and comfy, and Harry is so, so sleepy. Ugh, why won’t her mum give her five minutes -

“Hazza, you’re going to miss all the good stuff. And by good stuff I mean sex.”

That is definitely _not_ her mother.

Harry cracks one eye open, peering blearily at a the smudged figure in front of her. She blinks, scrubbing her eyes with one hand. Everything slides into focus, and Harry spooks like a horse when her gaze lands on Louis. “Lou, what are you doing here?”

Louis beams at her, soft light from the window glowing gold behind her head. She settles on the side of the bed, taking Harry’s hand and playing with her fingers. “Yeah, you’re not going to the spa today, babe.”

“I’m not?” Harry repeats fuzzily. She must look as confused as she feels, because Louis laughs out loud, twining their hands.

“It’s a surprise,” Louis grins, “so get your cute arse out of bed.”

Excitement slowly begins to spark under Harry’s skin, her blood thrumming in anticipation. She practically skips out of bed, throwing the covers off. Louis smirks at her, raising her eyebrows when Harry strips right away, unabashed.

“Nice to see you still have your stunning sense of chastity,” Louis comments, leaning back on her hands. Harry wiggles her bum at her, giggling.

“Please, you fingered me in the changing rooms,” Harry argues, “like I’m the one with overwhelming prudence.”

“Yeah, I did not need to hear that,” Gemma groans, slumping against Harry’s door. She looks soft and young, draped in a fluffy dressing gown, hair in a sloppy side plait. “Harry, get your butt in gear. Hey, Lou.”

Louis waves at her, and Gemma waves back. Harry tries to restrain her squeal of happiness; she loves it that her family and her girlfriend are getting along. “Hey, did you know about this, Gem? You chose a stupid footballer over your own sister?”

“Captain,” Louis reminds her. “ _Your_ captain, which means I’m going to make you do squats on Monday unless you hurry up.”

Harry gives her a look, then pounces on Louis. She pushes her against the bed, tickling her, a messy tangle of legs. Some of Louis’ hair is up Harry’s noise, and Louis is doing her best to stick her cold hands down Harry’s shirt.

“Ugh, get off,” Louis shouts, pushing Harry so they flip over. Harry flexes her hips, grinning at how close Louis’ face is. She can see the flecks of gold in Louis’ eyes. “I’m going to kill you, Harry, I swear.”

“Like you’d even try,” Harry scoffs, giving up and making all her limbs go loose. Louis’ sprawled out above her, skin hot against hers. Louis’ lips are twitching, fighting not to turn up at the corners. Harry bats her eyes at her.

“Yep, still here,” Gemma says loudly, and Louis and Harry both jump. Harry almost brains Louis, and Gemma sighs. “Don’t kill your girlfriend, Haz. At least wait until you know what the surprise is.”

“The surprise!” Harry shouts, scrabbling out from underneath Louis. She smacks a quick kiss on her lips, then slides off the bed, grabbing a skirt and her favourite pumps. “Do I need to bring my bag?”

“Yes.” Louis laughs at Harry’s enthusiasm. “You’re like a kid at Christmas.”

“I do love Christmas,” Harry muses. She yanks it through her hair, pulling it up into a messy bun. “Just let me brush my teeth.”

When she comes out the bathroom, Harry shoulders her rusack, but Louis grabs it off her, sliding their palms together. Harry can’t fight the huge smile on her face, giggling when they both try to fit through the door at the same time. Anne and Robin are standing in the hall, Anne’s smile as wide as Harry’s.

“Were you in on this too?” Harry demands, shaking her head.

“Sorry, love, Louis roped me into it.” Anne gives her a big hug, then ushers her out of the door. Louis’ car is outfront, and Harry clambers into it, throwing her bag in the back.

“I’m so excited!” Harry gushes, clicking her seat belt into place. “Where are we going? Is it all weekend? Is it a theme park? If it’s a theme park, you’re going to have to hold my hand - “

“It’s not a theme park,” Louis answers, tiny smile curving behind her lips. She puts her hand on the back of Harry’s seat, looking over her shoulder as she backs out. “And don’t get too excited, okay, it’s um.”

Louis swallows, eyes flicking to Harry’s then back to the road. “I had to improvise a bit.”

Harry frowns at the tight lines around Louis’ eyes, the way her muscles have tensed up. She takes Louis’ hand, squeezing it gently. “Hey, I’ll love it whatever it is.”

Louis smiles at her, the tense line of her shoulders evening out. She flicks on the radio, quiet music humming through the car. They sit in comfortable silence while Louis drives, heater on, this little den made for two.

Louis doesn’t drive far, maybe thirty minutes, and when she pulls up, Harry realises they’ve driven to a hotel. It’s pretty, named _Two Swallows_ , painted a clear white, flowers by the door. Louis turns the engine off and grins at her. “Surprise.”

“A hotel?” Harry asks, staring through the glass. “We’re staying at a hotel for the weekend?”

“Um, yeah,” Louis says nervously. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, tugging on the pink flesh. “You remember that night after the changing rooms? And you said you wish you could do this properly?”

“In a fancy hotel,” Harry continues in wonder, realisation dawning. “Satin sheets, flashy shower -”

“ - rose petals,” Louis finishes for her, eyes crinkling. “Exactly, so I wrangled this. It’s not too fancy, it’s taken pretty much all of my wages, and I had help - “

Harry throws herself at Louis, wrapping her arms around her neck. Louis jolts in her seat, but she hugs Harry back, burrowing her face in Harry’s hair. “This is the best thing ever, oh my god.”

“Are you getting tearful?” Louis teases, leaning back and brushing her thumbs over Harry’s cheeks. “Because this isn’t completely magnanimous, Styles. I’m expecting sex. Serious, _mind blowing_ sex.”

“I can manage that,” Harry beams. She feels happy, her chest light and brimming with golden emotions. “Come on, I’m so excited.”

They grab their bags from the back, then scramble out of the car. The receptionist grins at them when they stumble in. It takes a minute for Harry’s brain to slot the face into place, but then she blinks and imagines the candy floss pink a platinum blond.

“Hey, Perrie,” Louis grins, Perrie’s blue eyes lighting up. “Thanks for sorting this. Harry, Perrie works here part time. She managed to swing up a discount on the room, otherwise I’d never have been able to afford it.”

“It’s fine,” Perrie gushes. She’s cute, vibrant locks piled on her head, silver nose stud glinting in her pale skin. Her northern accent is comforting, gentle. “I still feel bad for leaving you in the lurch, Lou. Though looks like you found replacements.”

She winks at Harry to show she’s joking, and Harry feels a rush of affection for this girl. “Thank you so much, seriously. Just - thanks.”

“It’s cool.” Perrie shrugs, snapping the gum she’s chewing. “I’m sleeping with the boss.”

Louis raises an impressed eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I’m sleeping with the _daughter_ of the boss,” Perrie amends, and they all laugh. She pulls out a key card, white with two black swallows intertwined, a 103 stamped on it in black ink. “Okay, here’s your key. You’re on the first floor, so take the elevator then turn right. Any room service or whatever, it’s on me.”

“Thank you,” Louis says gratefully. She takes the keys, squeezing Perrie’s hand. “Why don’t you swing by the match next week? The girls miss you.”

Perrie’s smile dims a little, flickering like a broken light. “The break up with Zayn, it - I don’t think so. Not yet anyway.”

There’s an awkward pause, but Perrie doesn’t look too sad. A little bruised, but not something that can’t be fixed.

“Good luck with the other girl,” Harry blurts. She reaches for Perrie’s hand on a whim. “And seriously, think about coming to the match.”

Perrie’s smile switches back on, beaming full force now. “Thanks, babe. Okay, have fun, you two. Lube is your friend.”

Louis cackles at that, sliding a hand in Harry’s and dragging her to the elevator. They giggle all the way up, pressing sloppy kisses to each other’s mouths. The bell dings and they topple out, Louis sliding the key into the lock and hearing a satisfying click.

The room is gorgeous, plush pink carpet, white walls. There’s a vase with some baby pink roses, obviously Perrie’s touch, and a big, open window. Harry is more preoccupied with the bed than the furnishings.

“King size,” Harry cheers, pumping her fist in the air. “Score.”

“So lame.” Louis’ rolling her eyes, but she’s glowing, face lit. “Do you like it? This is why Zayn’s been ringing Perrie, you know. Liam was in on it as well.”

“Liam was?” Harry gasps. She kicks her pumps off, groaning at how soft the carpet is. Louis looks riveted by that particular sound, and Harry shakes her head.

Priorities, Styles. It’s time for you to give the greatest head of your life. Sex before carpets.

“Are you giving yourself a sex pep talk?”

“You won’t be complaining,” Harry sniffs. She had been calculating tongue techniques by orgasm time, but it’s probably time for some practical. “Get on the bed, Tomlinson.”

“Talk dirty, baby,” Louis coos, but she does it. She kneels on the bed, patting the space between her legs, and Harry crawls forward.

“This off,” Harry beams, trailing one finger down Louis’ sternum. Louis bares her teeth in an imitation of a smile. She pulls off her shirt slowly, and Harry whines at the torture. “And this.”

She gestures to Louis’ bra, which is a lovely shade, and she may have to buy one like it, but she’d much rather see Louis’ tits. Priorities. Louis shakes her head, but she unclasps it, tossing it to the sides.

“God,” Harry murmurs, leaning forward. She blows over one of Louis’ nipples, cool air until the the tiny bud tightens up. Harry’s unhurried, tracing her tongue around Louis’ nipple.

Her other hand reaches up palm Louis’ other breast, pinching the little pink bud. Louis’ back arches, and she captures Harry’s mouth, the kiss voracious. Harry feels like Louis’ pouring everything into it, licking into Harry’s mouth as she shoves their bodies together.

Harry begins to kiss Louis’ neck, knowing by now it’s a sensitive spot. She leaves open mouthed marks, biting down on the skin, lathing over it with her tongue until Louis’ writhing.

“Harry, please,” Louis whines, clawing at Harry’s shirt. Harry’s happy to oblige, pulling it over her head and wriggling out her skirt. Louis’ pupils are blown, eyes glassy, and Harry gently pushes her back on the bed.

Louis’ stomach muscles tighten when Harry begins to kiss down her chest. Harry glances up, pausing with her lips to Louis’ belly button. “Lou? You okay?”

Louis’ eyes snap open - Harry hadn’t even realised they were closed. “You’re so close to - _there_ ,” Louis mumbles, voice thick with arousal, and Harry feels her own pussy tighten. Louis’ voice sounds like gravel, and Harry’s stomach jolts with the fact she did that.

“Going to be closer in a minute, babe. Wait and see.” It’s not the best comeback, but Harry’s got work to do.

Harry kisses up Louis’ thigh, closer and closer until she’s right at the apex of her thighs. She can see where Louis is damp, the fabric of her knickers darkening. Her head feels dizzy, and then she realises she can _smell_ Louis’ arousal, and her whole stomach flips.

Harry breathes over the damp material, marvelling at how Louis’ whole body clenches. She presses her tongue against it, tastes Louis through the fabric, sweet and a bit dirty and _her_.

“Haz,” Louis whines, hips bucking. “God - Harry.”

Harry barely hears her, fingers hooking at the edges of her underwear, pulling them off, and then Louis’ bare. She’s so wet she’s dripping, wet and slick and perfect pink, ready for Harry and her mouth. Harry’s suddenly desperate to taste her, desperate, and she moves even closer. She licks a flat stripe up Louis’ slit, wide and messy, and groans at the taste. Louis groans above her, voices as in sync as their bodies.

Harry presses her tongue hard to Louis’ folds, reeling in the sensation. She licks Louis’ lips clean, messy as possible, stopping just short of her clit. Louis’ hips jolt again, and Harry has to give in, heads for the spot she knows Louis’ desperate for.

Louis whimpers as Harry teases her clit, tiny kitten licks. She swirls her tongue around the sensitive nub, eyes closing as she hears Louis’ whine grows. When she eventually takes in her teeth, tugging on it gently, Louis breaks completely, not bothering to dull her groans.

God, Harry is so turned on she can’t _think_. This is so intimate, so - close, Louis’ slick on her tongue, her thighs around her head, Harry licking into the deepest part of her. She wonders what she’d look like to anyone coming in, back arched, face between a pretty girl’s legs, and the thought is so incredible it sends her spiralling.

She really goes for it now, licking into Louis’ pussy like she wants to devour her. She’s pretty certain she has Louis’ slick all over her face, and Louis’ breaths are hitching more and more. She lets one finger slide into Louis, and Louis’ whole body clenches down, a hot, amazing heat.

“Harry, god,” Louis gasps, and Harry stops, for three, terrible seconds. Louis’ laid out above her, hair strewn over the pillow, chest flushed, nipples hard. Her eyes are closed in bliss, hands clutching the soft sheets.

She only lasts three seconds -- some distant part of Harry counts them precisely -- then she’s pressing hard with her lips, sliding in a second finger and fucking her hard. She can feel when Louis’ about to come, her own underwear drenched in slick.

Louis comes with a scream, her whole body shivering. It’s hot and wet against Harry’s mouth, and Harry doesn’t come herself, but she feels as though every nerve is on edge. She licks Louis clean, gentle now, almost loving, until Louis pushes at her shoulders.

Her own clit is throbbing, but she ignores it. Louis looks completely fucked, one hand thrown over her eyes. She peeks at Harry, then groans when her eyes fall to Harry’s lips. Harry wipes one hand over her mouth, grinning triumphantly.

“I don’t think I’m the same person,” Louis says finally, and Harry’s delighted to hear her voice is hoarse. “I - I literally don’t have words, that was the best orgasm of my life.”

“Really?” Harry beams, crawling up the bed and flopping down beside Louis. “Seeing as we are nubile young women, you should really return the favour.”

Louis rolls onto her side, raising her eyebrows at her. Her hair fans out behind her like a halo, completely unashamed of her naked body. “Firstly, don’t ever say nubile again. Secondly, you owe me two orgasms, and thirdly.”

Louis reaches down between them with no warning, whole hand cupping Harry’s pussy. She’s already sensitive, and the way Louis’ moving her palm makes her whole body set alight. Harry groans, as Louis leans forwards and tugs her earlobe with her teeth. “And thirdly, of course I would return the favour.”

Harry’s forgotten what they were arguing about, to be honest. Louis slides two fingers into her without warning, her thumb catching on Harry’s clit, and it’s too much. She shoves her face into Louis’ neck, shuddering breaths washing across her skin. When she comes it’s shaky and long, stretching out forever as her legs buckle.

“We should video this, make a killing,” Louis mumbles, holding her, and Harry lets out a tremulous laugh.

They lay there for a few moments, both trying to breathe. Harry feels like she’s trying to coax all the oxygen back into her lungs, convince her battered ribcage to start moving. Her vagina will never be the same.

“You what?” Louis whispers fondly, and Harry realises she said the last bit out loud.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers back, but Louis just wraps her arms around her tighter. She feels safe in Louis’ arms, even though Louis is shorter, as though Louis will curl around her and fight off the whole world if she needs to.

“Haz,” Louis says finally. She coughs, pulling back but leaving one hand on Harry’s hip. “Can I tell you about why I was so mean?”

Harry’s throat tightens. Louis looks so earnest, eyes gazing into hers. She nods, completely unable to form words.

“You remember when you had music lessons?” Louis begins, and her hand tightens on Harry’s waist, as if she’s trying to leave her handprint there. “And you used to kick a ball around outside?”

Harry frowns. She knows Ashton knew about that, she didn’t know Louis had. She lifts her chin, and Louis continues, tracing small circles into Harry’s skin with her thumb.

“Well, I saw you once. I’d got kicked out of class for being too loud or some shit. I didn’t fancy going to seclusion, so I just wandered about for a bit. And I walked past the music courtyard and - I saw you.”

Louis exhales steadily, the sound eerily loud in the silent room.

“It was some cliche moment. The world didn’t stop, or something.” Louis stops suddenly, grinning sheepishly. “Er, sorry, love.”

“It’s fine, I’m clearly not your Cinderella,” Harry sniffs, then winks to show she doesn’t mean it. Louis snorts, digging her hands into the jut of Harry’s hip. She seems to have a fixation with that spot; Harry’s certainly not going to stop her.

“So, I saw you. And I don’t think anything I first. I just thought, wow. That girl is seriously good at football. And I couldn’t get you out of my head. All day I was dying to tell Zayn, tell her all about this really pretty girl I’d just seen. I’d practically written out what position I wanted you to play.”

“So I told Zayn.” Louis clears her throat. “We’d, er. Done stuff by then, so she knew about - me. So I told her, and I’m like, gushing about this girl, and how excited I am she might play on the team with us. And Zayn just smiled, and pointed out I didn’t want to just be your friend. That I sounded like I was crushing on you pretty bad.”

Louis’ face darkens then, twisting ugly, and Harry bumps her knuckles against her cheekbones. Louis smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“And I flipped. All I could think of is what my dad had said that night, and what people would say at school, and it was like there was a tornado battering around in my head. I was so scared, so terrified I would let slip I liked you, that I decided to do the complete opposite. Of course I wasn’t that inconspicuous, Zayn and even Niall caught me babbling about you more than once.”

“And then you came out, and I was so, so jealous, but worse I was _disappointed_. Because you were sweet, you were funny, and I could have had a chance with you, but I was too fucking scared. It was regret just as much as it was shame, because I was still letting my dad run my life for me. I could have had something good and I just - I just couldn’t.”

Louis looks hunted now, face aged a hundred years, regret swimming in her eyes. Harry closes her eyes, inhales, then wraps her arms around Louis. And her legs. And pushes her face into her neck. She’s basically a human octopus, but Louis is trembling and Harry loves her so much.

“Everyone’s scared,” Harry mumbles, voice thick as she fights back tears. “You were a scared kid, Louis, god. No one expects you to take on the whole world. Those people who made you feel like that, your dad, fuck. They’re the ones who are wrong, the ones who hurt people, the people who are sick. They’re the ones that have to account for what they’ve done, not a terrified teenager.”

“You’re beautiful,” Harry continues, eyes burning with unshed tears. “And smart, and funny, and so brave. You look after your sisters, and you protect Zayn and Niall with your life. You’re a hero to so many people and I love you. I love you so much, Louis Tomlinson, I love you, I do - “

Louis’ crying now, water tracks staining her flushed cheeks. She’s staring at Harry in wonder, eyelashes glinting with tears. “You love me?”

Harry’s cheeks burn suddenly, but she doesn’t take it back. “Of course I do. Ever since you told me I have the coordination of a drink driver.”

“You walked into a bin!” Louis protests, sob catching in her throat. She pulls Harry closely, fists her hands in her hair. “And I love you too, I love you so much. You’re the best fucking thing in my life.”

Their mouths press together instinctively, a mutual movement that needed no words. The kiss is bittersweet with their tears, but Harry presses closes to Louis’ warm skin, protects this glowing, blossoming story between them.

“I love you so much,” Louis murmurs against her mouth, and then kisses Harry’s reply off her lips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Something shifts between them Harry realises later, though she can’t name it, couldn’t define it if you asked. They know everything about each other, each hard, dark stone that skipped surfaces and created ripples, and they know how to wash those wounds clean.

It feels new, shiny, and Harry’s going to keep it tucked in her heart forever. Louis lifts her head to gaze at her, and Harry feels overwhelmed by the pure love in her eyes. She know she’s looking at Louis the exact same way.

Harry keeps her head tucked into Louis’ neck, finding it soothing to be near Louis’ pulse point. Louis wiggles back eventually, kissing Harry’s forehead with reverence, before clearing her throat.

“So.”

“Room service?” Harry offers. Louis laughs, loud and throaty, and the last piece of the puzzle slots into place.

They’re both a little fragile after. Neither of them want to snap this bond between, even though it’s stronger than steel. Harry’s not worried; they’ll make it.

Harry’s clingy, plastering herself to Louis’ back as they call room service. They bicker about what to order for a full five minutes, until they realise they wanted the same thing, Louis just thought it was called something else.

“We’re so stupid,” Harry giggles, sprawling onto the bed. “How could you think they were different things?”

“Excuse me,” Louis squawks indignantly. “One sec, Perrie. Who in this room mistook toothpaste for lube?”

“One time!” Harry shouts, smacking Louis around the head with a pillow. Louis looks murderous, so Harry quickly gathers up the remaining pillows, then hides behind her pillow fort. “I told you that as a secret.”

“They don’t even look the same!”

“They both give you tingling pleasure!”

“Girls.” Perrie sounds like she’s really trying not to laugh. “I’ll bring some stuff up, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry and Louis chime, like naughty schoolchildren. Perrie laughs, then Harry hears the dialling tone.

“Tingling pleasure,” Louis scoffs, grabbing her bra off the floor. “Except I don’t want my genitals to feel minty fresh.”

“I could appreciate it,” Harry says slyly, and Louis lobs her bra at her. “What, I’m the one going down there!”

“Haz, shut up. Put on your clothes, tart. We can’t shock poor, innocent Perrie.”

“In all fairness, she did use to date Zayn,” Harry points out. She pulls on her shirt but leaves her skirt off. Perrie’s not a Victorian, Harry’s thighs won’t send her into a stupor. Though it would be quite cool if they did.

“What do you think Liam and Zayn are into?” Louis asks, shoving her hair up quickly. She settles on the bed next to Harry, grabbing a pillow and shoving it behind her.

“Spanking,” Harry says blithely. She stretches her legs out, grinning at the stretch of her muscles. “Daddy kink. Role play. Who the fuck knows.”

“I bet they rate their sex by Marvel movies.”

Harry bursts into laughter. “What?”

“Like, nice technique, babe. Definitely a _Guardians of the Galaxy_. Oh, a bit shoddy with the fingering. More of an _Iron_ _Man_ _3_.”

Harry is laughing so hard she’s forgotten how to breathe. Louis is cracking up too, head thrown back and eyes shut. It’s the cutest thing ever, and they both nearly miss the knocking at the door.

Perrie probably thinks they’re drunk when she comes in, raising an eyebrow at their dishevelled appearance. Harry just smiles sunnily at her, and she winks back. “Okay, here’s some general stuff, and there’s cookies for later, okay?”

“I am so hungry,” Louis groans, grabbing one of the pastries Perrie’s brought up. “God, Perrie. You are a goddess.”

Perrie rolls her eyes but she flushes a little. “Thank you,” Harry adds, grabbing her own snack. “It’s really, really nice of you.”

“Ah, I’m a sucker for romance,” Perrie admits, fluffing up her hair. “When Zayn called me about our captain having a crush, I had to help. I felt like it was the duty of every teen girl everywhere.”

“Well thanks,” Harry says earnestly, “it means a lot.”

They’re just digging into their pastries - Harry’s ravenous, her stomach growling - when Perrie pauses by the door. “Oh, and girls?”

Louis and Harry both look up. “Yes?”

Perrie raises her eyebrows. “I was up there with the _Winter_ _Soldier_.” She purses her lips. “I suppose down there is more accurate.”

She sashays out, and Louis and Harry stare at each, before bursting into laughter. “How did she hear us?” Harry gasps, clutching her ribs. “Oh my god.”

“I don’t even know,” Louis howls, shoving her face in a pillow to stop laughing. “I am never letting Zayn live this down, this has made my entire _life_.”

“Can we transfer Perrie back to our school?” Harry scrubs her eyes, slumping down onto the bed. “Please, I don’t care how, we have to do it.”

They finish the rest of the pastries, which are warm and flaky. Not as good as Harry’s own, but still pretty nice. Harry whines about getting crumbs on the sheets, so they compromise with Harry sitting on Louis’ lap. Which isn’t really a solution, because now they’re both getting crumbs on the sheets, but Harry will take it.

“They were so good,” Louis moans. Harry’s whole body tenses up at the sound, and she glares at Louis when she deliberately sucks on her fingers. “Can you make things like this, babe?”

“Of course I can, I’m not an ameteur.” Louis laughs at the disgruntled look on Harry’s face, hugging her from behind, resting her face between the planes of Harry’s back. “Alright, love. I was only asking.”

Harry twists around in Louis’ arms, straddling her. She drops a quick kiss on Louis’ lips. “Love you.”

Louis’ eyes glow. “Love you too.”

“Great.” Harry preens and Louis giggles. “Hot sex in the flashy shower?”

“Fuck yes,” Louis growls, digging her hands into Harry’s hips, hard enough that they’ll bruise. She catches their mouth together, tongue sliding past Harry’s lips like she wants to chase the taste of her.

The bathroom is nice, elegant. Everything in it matches, baby pink towels, pink roses in a vase on the sill, white walls. The shower is spacious with a double head, a number of shower gels and shampoos arranged prettily.

Harry wanders over to one, pops the cap and sniffs it. “Awe, Perrie must have got this from Lush. It’s _Snow Fairy_ , that’s my favourite.”

“Fizzy likes Lush.” Louis leans forward, sniffing the bottle. Harry’s 90% sure it’s just an excuse to wrap her hands around Harry’s where they’re holding the bottle. “I don’t really use it. Plus she’s only has a paper round, she can’t really buy that much.”

Harry picks up another bottle, conditioner this time, sweet and fruity. “This is so awesome. I can’t wait to use these.”

“Then don’t,” Louis quips, and quickly tugs off her shirt. She turns around as she shucks her underwear. She fiddles with the shower dials, and Harry freezes, transfixed. Her eyes watch Louis’ caramel cascade of curls, the sharp jut of her shoulders. Her skin is kissed golden, her curves delicious.

Louis smirks at her over her shoulder, and Harry hastily loses her own clothes. They drop to the floor with a soft thump, and Harry feels suddenly bold in the dark pools of Louis’ eyes. She runs one hand over her hips, letting it skate between her legs for a fleeting moment.

The shower is big enough for both of them, if a little awkward, and Harry sighs at the hot water. It feels stunning, warming her from the inside, and she closes her eyes in pure happiness.

“Let me wash your hair,” Louis whispers. Harry swallows at the gorgeous sight in front of her, Louis’ body slick with droplets of water. The tension is tangible, the buzzing adrenaline of _what will happen next_.

Louis gently massages the shampoo into Harry’s hair, fingers careful and deft. It feels so good Harry bites back a groan, shivering when Louis tugs her hand through a stubborn knot. “Turn around so I can wash it out.”

That’s even worse, because Harry can feel Louis’ erect nipples pressing against her back. The shower has nothing to do with how wet she feels, and as Louis nudges a thigh between her legs, she thinks she might lose it completely.

“Do me now,” Louis orders, stepping back and letting cool air rush between them.

Harry moans at the loss of contact, Louis trailing her hands through the wet ends of Harry’s hair. It’s not too much of a sacrifice really, she has a soaking Louis to handle (hopefully soaking in more than one way).

“Going to use this,” Harry announces, plucking the shower gel bottle off the little ledge. She pours a decent amount on her hands, rubbing them together so her palms are slick with it.

“Pretty certain you’re supposed to use a sponge.” Louis’ steady tone is a juxtaposition to her shaky breathing. Her pupils are blown, tiny slivers of grey surrounded by pure black.

Harry reaches for her, running her hands down Louis’ black. The spray of the shower and the shower gel means her hands easily slide over Louis’ skin. She cups Louis’ arse, squeezing, and Louis keens.

She brings her hands, reaching round and up, cupping Louis’ breasts. She barely runs a slippery thumb over her nipple, before Louis is shoving her away. She curls her hands around Harry’s wrists, backing them up until they’re away from the spray.

“Tease,” Louis whispers, voice throaty and send chills through Harry. Harry tilts her head back, feels the cold, hard wall behind her. “Your turn, now.”

“Really?” Harry gasps, thighs clenching as Louis slips a hand between them. “Why don’t you put your mouth when your money is?”

“That was a terrible line,” Louis says seriously. Harry sticks her tongue out at her, but heat rocks through her when Louis drops to her knees.

She doesn’t have any time to recover before Louis’ licking a thick stripe up her slit. Harry groans, resting her entire weight against the wall. Louis is teasing, fierce, fucking Harry with her tongue.

“God, Lou.” Harry’s groans echoes around the shower. Louis swirls her tongue messily, before sliding her lips up to Harry’s clit. The feeling is incredible; Louis sucks on her clit, places kitten licks on it with her tongue, tugs it with her teeth.

Harry comes with a shout, the pleasure burning through her. Her head smacks painfully against the wall, but she barely notices. “Louis, I - Louis.”

“Think you can go again?”

“Think you sucked my brain out of my clit,” Harry mumbles, entire body throbbing. Then, she registers what Louis said. “What?”

“I think you can go again.” Louis’ voice is husky, and Harry risks a look. Louis’ lips are wet, wet with - _Harry_ , her chest heaving, nipples erect. Harry clenches instinctively, her sensitive body shuddering.

“I don’t know, I can’t - “

She almost screams when Louis puts her mouth back on her. Louis’ slow this time, gentle, but that’s worse, that drive Harry even more crazy. She swirls her tongue, tracing Harry’s lip with the tip of her tongue. She moves up, pressing her tongue against Harry’s clit, the pressure tortuous.

“I can’t - Lou,” Harry gasps. Every muscle is screaming at the sensations, but she feel her orgasm begin to building, heat flooding her lower stomach.

Louis sinks a finger into her, then two, twisting and curling and curving, until -

She hits Harry’s g-spot, at the exact time she presses hard against Harry’s clit, and Harry might as well have burst into flame. The heat rushing through her is just this side of painful, and Harry blacks out for a second, her head spinning.

It’s okay though, because Louis scoops her into her arms. “So good, baby. Can’t believe you came twice, you looked so gorgeous, god.”

Harry whimpers, letting Louis take some of her weight. She’s feels raw, completely fucked, the muscles of her thighs shaking. She honestly doesn’t think she’s ever come so hard. Louis strokes her hand, playing with the damp strands. “God, Harry, you look so hot when you come.”

“I’m trying to recover here,” Harry jokes. It’s semi serious because she couldn’t take anymore orgasms. Right now at least. She sees lots of orgasms in her future.

“Come on.” The look Louis shoots her is fond, manhandling Harry until she’s back under the hot spray. “Rinse off, then we can cuddle on that ridiculously nice bed.”

Harry sighs. “Sounds perfect.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they check out the next day, Perrie looks extremely smug. Her light blue eyes meet Harry’s, beaming when they drop to their clasped hands.

Harry feels smug. She aches pleasantly between her thighs, and there’s a constellation of bruises blooming on her neck. Louis looks equally fucked, her whole manner oozing satisfaction. There’s a smirk playing on her lips, one Harry’s spent most of the night chasing.

“Thanks, Pez.” Louis slides the key card back across the table, smirking wider when it clinks against the desk. “Hope we didn’t keep you up.”

“Louis, shut up,” Perrie says good naturedly. She flips the keys around her fingers, flashing her white teeth at them. “Should I make a monthly booking?”

“Only if I become a millionaire,” Harry mumbles, prompting laughter from the other two girls. Harry glows when Louis beams at her. Louis’ lips tilt up, and she presses a soft kiss to Harry’s mouth, before turning back to Perrie.

“Seriously, thanks again. Think about the match, yeah?”

Harry feels drunk as she stumbles to the car, Louis’ body heat intoxicating. Last night had been hot, amazing, and full of orgasms, which is really all Harry’s asking for in life. Louis had whispered she’d loved her before they’d fallen asleep, and Harry had slept like a baby.

“We should do that again,” Harry yawns, leaning back into her seat. “My turn next time. I’m going to really pull out the stops, you won’t know what hit you.”

“As long as _you_ don’t hit me,” Louis teases, slotting their hands together. She doesn’t start the engine yet, gazing at Harry with hooded eyes. “Unless that’s what you’re into. Then we might have to have a discussion.”

“Alright, insatiable.” Harry cocks her head to the side, fluttering her eyelashes. “Let me recover, don’t think I can get kinky just yet.”

“So fifteen minutes, yeah?” Louis smirks, and Harry scowls at her. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

Harry sighs dreamily. “The best.” She clears her throat. “Thank you, for telling me that last night. It doesn’t matter anymore, okay? I’m so happy we’re together now.”

Louis’ bottom lip trembles. “Me too.”

“And you really weren’t that subtle,” Harry continues lightly, sniggering when Louis slaps on her on the leg. “You were about as subtle as Niall’s belly button piercing, I could totally tell you were checking me out every practise.”

Louis laughs happily, craning over her shoulder as she pulls out. The car hums happily, and Harry snuggles into the warm seat. She’s wearing Louis’ jacket, the soft fabric of the hood brushing her cheeks. “Love you, Lou.”

“Love you too, sweetheart,” Louis answers, and the words glow where they settle in Harry’s chest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyone is screaming.

This time, however, it’s for a good reason. A fabulous reason, considering Louis just scored the winning goal of the last game of the season.

Niall’s thrown herself at Harry, wiry arms wrapping around Harry’s body like vines. All the air punches out of Harry’s lungs, and she’s choking on laughter as elation loops her body. Liam joins the hug too, spinning Harry around, and the crowd is a blur of faces.

She can see Michael’s turquoise hair, and Ashton waving his banner. Liam’s still twirling her, so Harry can just make out a smudge of blond, four Tomlinsons and Jay and Dan. She slips on the wet pitch when Liam lets her go. Harry’s certain she’s going to land head first in the wet grass, when two strong arms steady her.

Harry twists around, beaming instinctively. Louis beams back, her whole face shining. Her eyes are bright, blue diamonds in her face, cheeks baby pink, tendrils of hair curving around her ears. She looks absolutely ecstatic. Harry hugs her tight.

“We won! Louis, you did it! We won!” Harry’s vibrating on the spot, flushed with pride, her own and for the rest of her team. She feels sweaty, pushed to the limit, but the expression on Louis’ face is worth feeling the burn in her muscles ten times over.

“I love you,” Louis says fiercely, and she kisses her, right there on the pitch, right in front of everyone. She feels like there’s a tiny sun in her chest, burning, blazing, spreading heat through her until they both burn, burn, burn.

“I love you too.” Harry breathes the words into Louis’ mouth, Louis’ hands settling on her waist, curving into the jut of her hips like they belong there. “So much.”

“Love you baby,” Louis murmurs, sparks exploding under Harry’s skin. She tucks her face into Harry’s neck, nuzzles into the hot skin. The sounds of the pitched are muted, hollow; all she can hear the thump of Louis’ heart, her quick breath fanning across Harry’s ear. Harry closes her eyes and grips onto the moment.

“Even though you’re still a bit shite at football.”

Harry just snogs her, and it's worth it when they get tackled by the entire team three seconds later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pats you on the back for making it through 60k of 1d as lesbians*
> 
> as ever, none of this is real, one direction are not girls in high school in lesbian relationships as far as I know
> 
> kudos and comments please *bambi eyes*
> 
> EDITED NOTE: don't know if anyone cares, but I am writing a 50k fem!larry fic for the girl direction ficathon :D can't give details as it's a surprise but if you liked this, maybe look out for my next one :D

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully people liked this and it didn't up a bunch of rambling but there you go :D
> 
> check out my girl direction blog!! [everyjawdrops](http://everyjawdrops.tumblr.com)
> 
> here is the [tumblr link](http://ariadneodair.tumblr.com/post/112226226562/i-love-your-demons-like-devils-can-60k-i-am) so please rebloggg :D
> 
> Thank you to the hosters of the fic!
> 
> Please please do leave kudos or comments, they honestly mean so much!


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